Posted on: 2013-05-13

Chapter Thirteen

She recovered from her surprise, and tried to reason with Fitz. It was odd to be working through the medium of Mr. Darcy, but there was nothing for it. You've got to be careful, she pleaded. You can't do anything to bring attention to yourself, please!

Danger, he insisted stubbornly. This time she understood that he meant he could not tolerate herself being in danger. His speech was unsophisticated, still carried on more by unspoken cues. She resisted the urge to scream in frustration. Nothing will happen if you don't do anything, she said desperately. We will be in more danger if you do act. Right now they only guess you are here. If you show them, then they will know and blame us for hiding you. She held her breath, and prayed that he would understand such a complex idea. Many animals had no concept of future danger, when it was removed so many degrees. Fitz was silent for a long moment. She could feel him thinking it over, struggling to come to terms with it. Truthfully, he was inherently a simple creature. When he was hungry, he ate. Thirsty, he drank. Tired, he slept. When there was danger, he ripped it to tiny shreds and forgot all about it. The fact that physical intervention was not needed in all situations was difficult for him to comprehend.

However, Fitz was not a common animal. Had he been one of Sir William's dogs, he would have never understood why he had to wait. On the other hand, she could have merely told him to stay, and be confident he would obey. With Fitz she could only plead, and hoped he listened to her. Her magic allowed them to communicate, but she could not command him as she could a dog. She sensed that he didn't fully understand the situation--the fact that he realized he didn't understand everything was astonishing all by itself--but he was willing to concede to her greater reasoning. He acknowledged reluctantly that he was far stronger, physically, but still limited in his comprehension.

A fine shudder ran through her as she realized she had successfully backed the werewolf away from a suicidal rage. She didn't know how they were going to deal with the test of silver and wolfsbane, but at least Fitz wasn't going to lash out recklessly and reveal himself. Mr. Darcy relaxed slightly as the tension eased in Fitz. They were deeply connected in ways she couldn't see. They might act and think like separate entities most of the time, but what affected one affected the other. That was something to consider the next time she had to get a difficult point across to Fitz. If she spoke to Mr. Darcy, perhaps he would have insight as how to present it in a way that Fitz would listen to. That was, of course, assuming she had the leisure to speak with Mr. Darcy without raising outside suspicions, and that he himself was willing to listen to her.

She realized she was already planning a next occurrence, as though dealing with the werewolf was going to be a regular activity. How long was Mr. Darcy planning to remain at Netherfield? Would he even welcome her help? Her presence made reasoning with Fitz much easier, but just now, in full view of the militia, her attendance on him was also going to lead to some unpleasant questions.

Nor was it only the militia she had to worry about. She heard Miss Bingley's voice even before the lady appeared downstairs. She was complaining about being roused so early, and the urgency of appearing before the militia had left her no time to dress fully. She, her sister, and Mr. Hurst were forced to come to the door in their dressing robes and house gowns. Miss Bingley saw her brother and drew herself up, ready to flatten him with her tirade, and then her eyes landed on Mr. Darcy and Lizzy. She stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth all but falling open in shock.

Her eyes darted between Mr. Darcy, flinching at his undressed state, to Lizzy, in her old, somewhat shabby dress. She looked positively green when she saw their joined hands. Her face screwed up as though soap had been splashed in her eyes. Lizzy's heart sank. With Miss Bingley involved, there was absolutely no way this would not reach everyone in Hertfordshire. She would be completely ruined; there was no saving her reputation.

No matter. She forced her head high against the tide of dread. Her eyes blurred with hot tears, but she would not shed them. Once the rumors got out, there was no possible way she could make an advantageous marriage, or any marriage at all. It was even likely that she would harm her sisters' chances of marriage as well. Perhaps if she absented herself for a time from Hertfordshire, it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe the Gardiners in London would consent to take her. She could help with the children.

Linked as they were, Fitz couldn't help but to notice her distress, and see where it came from. His attention abruptly shifted from Col Forster to Miss Bingley. Mr. Darcy's fingers curled around hers. She started in surprise, until she realized that Mr. Darcy had not initiated the move, but Fitz. He also shifted Mr. Darcy's weight toward her, an obvious statement of preference. Lizzy closed her eyes as Miss Bingley's expression turned murderously cold--and directed solely at her, not Mr. Darcy. Lizzy could practically see the malicious plans already forming in Miss Bingley's mind.

Please, no, don't, she begged Fitz, but the damage had already been done, and he was not inclined to alter his position. She had a sick feeling in the bottom of her stomach. Whatever Miss Bingley was planning, it would not be pleasant. The Gardiners were not far enough away. Perhaps she should flee to the Continent? Or better yet, to the upstart Colonies, where she would never be found again. She could join the Indians who lived like Gypsies. Her magic with animals would be a help to them, surely?

"Now that the household is together, I shall begin testing," Col Forster announced gleefully. It was awkward to be standing in the entryway while the militia milled about outside, but she understood that Mr. Bingley wouldn't invite them in. Col Forster produced a large silver cross, nearly a foot tall, and a small stained herb pouch. Fitz did not flinch or become nervous, but Lizzy did both for him. Col Forster approached Mr. Bingley first, as the head of the house.

Viciously, she stretched her senses to the pouch of wolfsbane. She had used her magic many times to increase the potency of an herb, but now she used it to strip the vitality away. She could have never done it with a fresh plant without someone taking notice, but the dried flakes were perfect victims for her. She drained them, seeking to limit the harmful influence they would have on Fitz.

"Hold this," Col Forster said curtly, giving the silver cross to Mr. Bingley. He held it, and allowed the Col Forster to place a hearty pinch of wolfsbane under his tongue. "Recite the Lord's Prayer."

Mr. Bingley did so, looking disgruntled at being subjected to the test, and attempting to speak clearly around the mouthful of wolfsbane.

"Now spit," Col Forster commanded, holding out a white handkerchief. Mr. Bingley obeyed, and his sister made noises of disgust at the crude sound. His spittle was clean of blood, and he was pronounced purely human. Mr. Bingley wiped his mouth with his hand, but was unable to clear the taste from his tongue. Lizzy's anxiety rose exponentially. How was she going to protect Fitz from this? Wolfsbane was poisonous even to normal humans; how much more so would it be to the werewolf? She kept reaching for the wolfsbane, trying to wring more poison out of it. She didn't know if she was being effective or not, but she was helpless to do anything else.

With great satisfaction, Col Forster approached Mr. Darcy next. The men eyed each other with distaste. The militia outside grew tense. They knew exactly who they had come to hunt, and were just waiting for the monster to show. Lizzy reinforced the channel to Fitz desperately. Be calm, she pleaded with him. The wolf took the time to reassure her, and then Mr. Darcy held his hand out confidently for the cross.

She was expecting some sort of reaction when he grabbed the poisoned metal. She was shocked at how great and how little that reaction was. Outwardly, Mr. Darcy remained the same as ever. Only his hand moved, clenching on her fingers with sudden, crushing strength. She welcomed the pain, even welcomed the bruises that would form later, because it meant he was fighting to appear as human as possible. That was the only thing an outside observer could note about him.

But insideÉ A thick, slimy film suddenly intruded between herself and Fitz. The wolf yelped and then cringed. The silver didn't just force him back; it trapped him in a near comatose state that was anything but peaceful. It was as though thin wires had twisted around his limbs and muzzle, tying him helplessly and cutting into his flesh in endless torment. He was powerless to fight against it, unable to even communicate clearly.

She reached for him with her magic, but the silver interfered with their connection. He could only suffer, silently. Yet they were still linked. She could feel the burn of the metal against Mr. Darcy's palm. She could feel the skin reddening with the irritation of the silver, the burning pain of it that traveled all the way up his arm. Only his superior control and long exposure to silver enabled him to hide his reaction.

Tears of frustration welled in her eyes. He was doing so well to hide what he was, yet he was going to be betrayed by his body's automatic response. That was why the silver and wolfsbane test was so effective; it could not be fooled or turned aside. No, she refused to believe that! Heedlessly she threw open the channel between herself and Fitz. She could not help Mr. Darcy, but that was alright; it wasn't him that was reacting to the silver. Much as she had the night before to Reba, she poured her magic into Fitz.
She strengthened him, fed him energy to combat the damage caused by the silver burning in his hand. Mr. Darcy steadied imperceptibly. He needed it, because in the next moment Col Forster took a pinch of wolfsbane as big as a plug of tobacco and rudely shoved it in his mouth. Lizzy almost cried out at the sudden pain the wolfsbane caused. She felt everything he did, in great detail.

The taste of the wolfsbane was metallic and bitter. It reeked of poison and death to his senses. Where it touched the sensitive flesh of his tongue and gums, it burned exquisitely. Welts rose almost at once, and would have burst but for the extra power she lent him freely. It was a chore to combat both the silver and the wolfsbane, but she fought with vigor. She felt as though she was holding her breath while sprinting; she could not keep the pace up for long, but she would hold it while she could.

The silver was a dull ache compared to the wolfsbane. The plant was a sharp toothache that never faded. It grew, and mixed with his saliva and slid down his throat in minute quantities. She could track its progress by the pain it inflicted down his gullet, and the cramping in his stomach. He breathed cleanly through his nose, and did not waver as Col Forster demanded he recite the Lord's Prayer.

He spoke, clearly enunciating his words, even though it felt as though acid was eating through his mouth, throat and belly. Finally he came to the end of the prayer, and it was time for him to spit. There was no way it would come out clear, not with the agony he was under. He could not have been more wounded than if live coals had been shoved under his tongue; the physical damage was practically identical.

And yet he leaned forward and spat into the white cloth without hesitation. Fitz did not have enough presence of mind to worry, as torn as he was by the silver and wolfsbane. Col Forster frowned at the gob of wolfsbane and spittle. By some miracle, it was as fresh as Mr. Bingley's had been. Only Lizzy knew it for the lie it was; should Mr. Darcy press his tongue firmly to any of the surfaces within his mouth, open wounds would ooze blood and puss at once. Yet somehow, they remained unbroken.

Col Forster seized the cross from Mr. Darcy's hand. Fitz did not so much as lunge up as limp weakly into the fore again. He whined softly in reassurance, but to her senses he had a gaunt and ragged appearance. Col Forster examined Mr. Darcy's palm critically, but found no tale-tell mark to proclaim the werewolf. Lizzy was exhausted from her efforts to save Fitz, but it was worth it. She swayed dizzily and held to Mr. Darcy's hand for support; all she could think was that they'd done it. Fitz and Mr. Darcy had passed the test.

She didn't understand why Col Forster was giving her such a stern look, until she realized it was her turn to take the test. She flexed her fingers against Mr. Darcy's. He released her, but pressed his hand to the small of her back. Only she noted the faint trembling in his touch. She took the cross in numbed, bloodless fingers, and nearly dropped it. It was heavier than she'd expected, and between her senseless fingers and the exhaustion of pouring her magic into Fitz, it was all she could do to hold it upright.

She braced herself for the pain of the wolfsbane. Col Forster used a considerably smaller amount for her. Instead of the sharp, foul taste she expected, it reminded her of stale, musty earth. Her mouth tingled for a moment, and then began to go numb. Of course, she realized. She wasn't a werewolf. This was what Mr. Bingley had no doubt experienced as well. The spreading numbness was from the wolfsbane being absorbed into her system. In a panic she said the Lord's Prayer without prompting, seeking to rid herself of the poison as soon as possible. Her mind began to plan a purging tincture. She would take it as soon as she returned home, and when Mr. Bingley came to visit, she would send a bottle back for everyone at Netherfield.

Especially Mr. Darcy. The channel between them wasn't as sharp now that there was no longer skin contact, but it was still enough for her to feel the fire in his gut, and the spreading ache in his bones. How much was a lethal dose? Would he be alright? Nausea swept him as his body instinctively tried to rid itself of the intruder. He had to force it back, and she couldn't help but to admire his rigid control that allowed him to appear as unaffected as ever.

Miss Bingley and the Hursts were tested in short order, though Col Forster's enthusiasm was considerably diminished. He kept shooting disgruntled looks at Mr. Darcy, as though wishing to accuse him of deliberately failing the test. Should Col Forster think to test him again, neither she nor Fitz had the strength remaining to resist the inevitable results.

"I see I must apologize," Col Forster said stiffly. "It appears that my information on the subject may have been mistaken. Though I am still at a loss to explain such an unorthodox appearance among your members." He looked pointedly at Mr. Darcy and Lizzy, still standing too close to one another. Mr. Darcy's shoulders grew tight as he faced Col Forster. Lizzy felt the silent vibrations of Fitz's growl of warning. Though the hunt for the werewolf had been futile, it was clear the militia would not leave until some explanation was given. Fitz's patience was at an end; he would no longer tolerate these intruders.

"The kittens!" Lizzy suddenly blurted. All eyes turned to her. Her thoughts were scattered and wild. The only coherent ideas she followed were to keep Fitz from revealing himself, and to explain why she had mysteriously appeared at Netherfield in her old, worn clothes. She felt her facing heating, but persevered despite the unfriendly attention directed at her. It helped that even Fitz had paused to listen. While he was listening, he was not plotting an attack. "Th-there were kittens born last night," she explained nervously. "They were out of season and it was a hard labor. I'm sure you're aware of my magic with animals. I came to see what I could do to help."

Col Forster, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst gave her equally disbelieving and scornful looks. Mr. Bingley tried to appear unsurprised and supportive, while Mr. Darcy maintained his superior disdain. Mr. Hurst looked as though he wanted breakfast.

"I suppose you can produce such kittens as evidence of your involvement?" Col Forster asked sternly. Mr. Darcy stiffened in outrage, and a black look came over even Mr. Bingley's face. The colonel's question had not just been impertinent, but outright rude to obviously doubt her honesty. She feared Fitz would lunge for the man's throat right there. She put a hand on Mr. Darcy's arm as his weight shifted.

"Of course," she smiled tightly. Mr. Bingley shot her a panicked look, which she could not answer without raising suspicion. She led the group to the linen closet where she had procured sheets for Fitz just an hour ago. Had so little time truly passed? It felt like days had gone by since opening the door to the rage that had been Fitz.

She opened the door slowly, apologizing again to the nursing mother within. The grey tabby blinked at the light and hissed at the faces gawking at her. Lizzy did her best to soothe the queen. Mr. Bingley began speaking nervously. "Ah, yes, Tabitha. She's a great favorite of the household you know, and when I saw her distressed, I sent for Miss Elizabeth's help, knowing it was a great imposition, but what could be done? She was so kind to come, even in the middle of the night, and as you see, she is quite well now."

Miss Bingley snorted in derision. Thankfully the Hursts had opted to return to their rooms to dress.

"They're beautiful," Lizzy murmured in open admiration. She could already feel the kittens' minds, still fuzzy and unformed, but radiating warmth and contentment. They were fluffy puffs against their mother's stomach. Four were grey and spotted like their mother, but one was a pure, unsullied white. She knew at once that one was different.

"This one is deaf," she said, reaching out a finger to stroke the tiny snowball of fur. "He can't hear at all."

"You can tell so soon?" Mr. Bingley asked eagerly, his academic interest overriding the seriousness of the situation. She was about to reply when Miss Bingley interjected sharply, "Drown the rat! What use is a cat that can't hear?"

Lizzy stiffened in rage. She started to turn to the other woman. She didn't know what she would have done--perhaps clawed at her like a mother cat herself--but Mr. Darcy reacted faster. She could feel that both Fitz and Mr. Darcy were of one accord as he reached out and plucked the unlucky kitten from the nest. The queen spat and scratched at him, leaving marks on the back of his hand nearly identical to the ones on his face. He deposited the kitten neatly in Lizzy's hands. She was ready to receive him, having followed Fitz's intentions. For a creature with no hearing, there was nothing wrong with the kitten's lungs, and he protested vigorously against the removal from warmth.

She comforted him, and then also had to assure the queen that the big bad werewolf intended no harm to her kittens. His actions spoke volumes about where his opinions lay.

"That is enough," Mr. Darcy spoke for the first time since the militia arrived. His quiet command, backed by the power of the wolf inside him, was enough to make everyone obey. Col Forster was still unhappy by the holes in the story he was told, but without further evidence was forced from the house. Miss Bingley looked as though she had been slapped, and Lizzy did not dare give the white kitten back to his mother. She feared for the safety of the other kittens, but Fitz assured her that he would not allow Miss Bingley near them.

Still she felt the woman's malicious glare stabbing her with every second. It was time to leave Netherfield. She was escorted to the door by Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley. The latter only came because Mr. Darcy forced her away from the helpless kittens. Even without speaking a word or raising a finger, he was very commanding. Lizzy was awed to witness what Mr. Darcy and Fitz could accomplish when they worked in concert.

The white kitten was small enough to slip into her sleeve. She mounted Reba, holding her arm carefully to her chest, and nodded goodbye to Netherfield. Mr. Bingley waved amiably. Miss Bingley curled her lip in a weak copy of Fitz's snarl. And Mr. Darcy? She swore she felt his eyes on her long after Netherfield had passed out of sight.

There was nothing for it, Charles realized quickly. They would have to leave Netherfield, soon. Preferably today, though it was impossible with one more night of the full moon remaining. Darcy would have to change here, and then they could travel to London. Or Pemberley. Or anywhere that wasn't here. Hertfordshire had suddenly turned unfriendly for well-meaning werewolves, and it was too risky to stay. No doubt it was Wickham who had somehow turned the suspicion of the militia onto Darcy. He could scarcely comprehend the evil of that man, after everything he had already done to the Darcy family.
He ordered the trunks to be packed, leaving out only travel clothes for the next day. His sisters would be pleased to be leaving Hertfordshire, no matter the reason. Speaking of his sisters, he needed to speak with Caroline about this day. He loved his sisters dearly, they were family, but he was not blind to their faults, especially Caroline's. If she got it in her mind, she could make things very difficult for Miss Elizabeth.

He was determined that would not happen to the sister of his angel, and the one person that had given Darcy hope after the disaster of this summer. He was still certain there was something between his friend and Miss Elizabeth, no matter how much Darcy denied it. Given more time, surely they would come to some sort of understanding? Darcy wasn't the easiest of people to learn to know, even more since Ramsgate, but Miss Elizabeth clearly had no problems with his wolf. That was the most important thing of all, that she would not give him away, and endanger Georgiana and Darcy both. Frankly, in their conversations not including werewolves, she said the pert sort of things that he didn't quite understand, but were rather like observations Darcy used to make back in school. When he had been happier. They would make a good match of it, if only Darcy would bend a little.

What did he know, though? His own affairs of the heart were sadly tangled as well. Darcy had urged him to wait--well, urged him against any sort of attachment at all, which Charles had modified into waiting--and now he was going to have to leave without seeing his angel! He would write her a letter, and post it before he left Netherfield. He prayed she would understand. He comforted himself with the fact that he would be coming back for her, when the furor had died down some.

He headed upstairs to make preparations to leave. First his sister, and then his angel. Then he'd find Darcy, and demand to know how the hell he had passed that damned test! His tongue was still slightly numb from the wolfsbane. In the hallway, he met Darcy just as his friend was shutting the door of Caroline's room behind him. Charles' eyebrows shot up. He knew enough to know no improprieties had taken place, but he still wondered what Darcy was doing there. He wondered if he might need to check on the health of his sister.

Darcy saw him, started guiltily, and then his face hardened. A look came over him that Charles had learned meant the wolf was in control. "I had to do it. I couldn't let her hurt Elizabeth," he said darkly, his body tensed for action.

Part of Charles gleefully noted the use of Miss Elizabeth's Christian name, and rejoiced that he had been right about them. The rest of him struggled to remain calm as he asked, "What did you do?" There was no blood, and there hadn't been the sounds of a struggle, so hopefully it wasn't anything unforgivable. The wolf could be damnably direct, though.

Darcy raised his chin in defiance, for all the world like a little boy caught placing spiders on his nanny's bed. "I laid a geas on her," he admitted. "And she'll sleep all of today. Maybe she'll forget what happened."

Charles stared at Darcy, open-mouthed. "Magic?" he said weakly. A geas was major magic, well beyond anything he could do. It was no surprise that Darcy in his prime could perform a geas, but since becoming a werewolf, his magic had been spotty at best, and non-existent during the full moon.

"I won't apologize," Darcy said stubbornly. "She won't be able to speak of anything that happened today. I didn't harm her."

"The wolf let you cast the geas?" Charles said dumbly. He was confounded, and even more when Darcy blinked in surprise. His expression changed, and became masked.

"Yes," he answered shortly, and Charles was absolutely sure there was more to the story than he was being told. Still, if a non-harmful geas was placed on Caroline, that she could never speak of this day, that wasn't such a bad thing. Unorthodox, morally questionable, and yet she couldn't damage Miss Elizabeth's standing in the community, nor would she be able to reveal Darcy's affliction if she ever realized the test was directed at him. Plus, it meant he didn't have to talk to her about it. That left him more time to write his letter to Miss Bennet.

He nodded. "It's good that your magic is returning," he said, and clapped Darcy on the shoulder as he passed them for the study. He was careful to avoid the bandages he had placed over Darcy's wounds, but he still felt him shudder. If Darcy were to fall ill nowÉ Charles might not have any choice but to summon Miss Elizabeth for real. He brightened a little as he thought that her elder sister might come as well. Perhaps they would stay a few days again, just to make sure Darcy as Fitz wasn't out of control.
Shaking his head to clear his pleasant reverie, he sat at the desk in the study and pulled out a pen and paper to write his angel.

My Dearest Jane,

Charles Bingley.

He nodded as he finished the letter. He knew he was taking a risk in writing to her. They were not engaged, nor did they have an understanding. If she did not wish to receive attentions from him, all she would have to do was not reply. He prayed she wouldn't feel ill-used by him. She had every right to, but he was hoping the letter might reassure her. There was nothing left for it, but to post the letter and wait for a reply.

It was still half an hour before sunset. Darcy could feel it like a faint prickling on his skin, an anticipation of the energies to come. When he'd just been a mage, he had felt the sunset and dawn as thresholds. Each dawn was a new beginning; sunset was not so much an ending, as an aging of the ambient magic available to him. And yet he'd hardly paid attention to them, except when a spell required a certain energy only found in the day or night hours.

He still didn't take note of sunset and sunrise, except for the full moon. On the nights of the full moon, then sunset heralded his forced time as a wolf, and sunrise marked when he was released from obligation. And yet he knew he wasn't limited to only those times. He had been able to change back after dawn; most likely, he could hold onto his wolf form beyond the threshold of daylight with practice.

He had noticed that it was easier to shift to wolf when it was dark out, and easier to return to human during the day. During the days of the full moon, his wolf slept soundly, unless some outward cause should wake him. He supposed it was only natural that his wolf was nocturnal. Just now he was impatient to be done with it. He knew he was going to change in a short period of time. Even though the change was not so bad as it once had been, the full moon changes still scared him slightly. They were more powerful than usual; he had the sense of losing control, of dying, or being born. He couldn't resist them. The slightest resistance brought agonizing pain to him. But he couldn't trigger the change either. It was that powerlessness that bothered him the most.

And yetÉ he didn't have to change only at sunset. If he voluntarily shifted beforehandÉ He was willing to try anything. He sought out Charles quickly, feeling only minutes before the full force of the wolf came down on him. Charles looked distracted, but agreed to stand vigil over him. They went to Darcy's room, and locked the door. They were avoiding the caged room now, since Miss Elizabeth had informed them that being trapped was as much of a trigger for the wolf as silver. He should have realized it before, but his greatest fear was of losing control of the wolf, of hurting someone unknowing. Containing himself had been the only answer he could think of at the time.

It was Miss Elizabeth that showed him different.

Darcy stripped, trying not to show how his hands were trembling. He still felt weakened and feverish from the wolfsbane. He would never forget how Miss Elizabeth had opened to him in that moment, the way her strength had poured into him. He realized he had been underestimating her ability all along. She was easily as strong in her field as he had been with magic before becoming a werewolf. And well, Miss Elizabeth had given him back that as well.

He had spent so much time fighting his wolf that there had been no room for anything else in him, including his magic. It was well known that those with magic generally lost it when they were infected by a werewolf. He knew now it was because the new wolf had to make room for itself within the person, and generally took up the same space once occupied by magic. He had despaired of ever working with magic again, but he had seen that when he stopped fighting, when he and his wolf were in full accord with each other, he had access to his full abilities once again.

He triggered the change. It swept over him, surprisingly swift. Each time he shifted seemed to get faster. The less he fought it, the more powerful he became. He wasn't sure he wanted that power, and yet it was not the first time great power had come to him. He had become the master of Pemberley at a mere nineteen years of age. He had succeeded at that, and so he would also succeed with his wolf.

The secret, as Miss Elizabeth had shown him, was to stop fighting, to accept that he existed, and was not evil. When he realized that his wolf was part of him, not a separate entity altogether, it was but a short leap to realize they desired many of the same things. It was as if he had a brother living under his skin, a twin he was very close to. With enough time and practice, he was sure he need never fear anything he might do as a wolf again.

He dropped to all fours heavily, and then shook his fur out. He had changed often enough in his room that it was comfortable and familiar to him. Charles looked at him anxiously, but his fears were needless. Now just to wait for sunset. He looked to the timepiece, but his werewolf eyes focused differently from his human ones, and it was difficult to see the fine print. It was strange; he could see every vein on a leaf a dozen paces away, and yet to focus closely on print a yard from him was nearly impossible. Perhaps it was not his eyes that were at fault, but the mind behind them that made the task difficult. What need did a werewolf have to read? Maybe that was something else he could conquer, with a little application.

He looked to Charles, and was frustrated to not be able to share his thoughts with the man. It had been easier when Miss Elizabeth was with them, even if she was a distracting influence on both him and his wolf. He wasn't sure his wolf could have communicated such a complex idea to her, but at least he would have been able to get some meaning across. Now he was as mute as a defeated housewife, and Charles as deaf as a miser to requests of money.

He paused, wondering where that thought had come from. It had to have been from his wolf. But why did his wolf think Charles was deaf? The man could physically hear, and yetÉ as he inquired the answer opened to him. Charles was not hearing the right things. He could not hear Darcy as Miss Elizabeth could, nor could he read the basic communications animals had between themselves. That was precisely what his wolf meant, and it was very accurate.

If he wished to speak with Charles, he must find a way to do it in human terms. He padded over to his friend. Charles looked nervous, but held his ground. Darcy sat in front of him, and then offered a paw to shake, as a dog might. Charles blinked in astonishment, and then took his paw carefully. "My God, it is you, Darcy," Charles breathed, shaking his paw solemnly. Darcy was amused to see Charles' hand could not fully reach around his paw. His tail thumped on the ground; his wolf did it, not himself, and yet it conveyed assurance to Charles all the same.

Just then the sun went down. Darcy felt it as an invisible wash of energy over him, making his fur crackle with it.

Chapter Fourteen

His wolf had been present all along, but suddenly he was much more in the forefront, a glittering awareness that was wilder than his own. He felt crowded in his skin, as he and his wolf struggled for dominance. It went against his every instinct, but the answer was not to fight. He allowed his wolf the majority of control. His wolf looked around the room, reassured that everything was alright, then sneezed and waited. If Darcy had been human, his jaw would have dropped open. His wolf was in control, but he was waiting for direction from Darcy!

Experimentally he asked his wolf to circle the room. His wolf all but rolled his eyes, easily conveying the inanity of the request, but obeyed. Astonished, Darcy wondered how far his wolf would take direction. He asked him to lay down and roll over. His wolf balked with a snort, refusing to diminish his dignity in such a way. Darcy chuckled silently. No, he would not have wanted to do that either. His--their--jaws gaped in a silent grin. This was amazing. He regretted that it was the last night of the full moon, but comforted himself that it did not matter; he could shift at any time now.

He hated that it had taken this long to form this bond, this partnership with his wolf. How much simpler things would have been if he'd realized it earlier. How much less pain he would have caused. He wondered if Miss Elizabeth had been there from the first moment of his change, if she would have tamed his wolf so easily then as well. Might not a lot of grief been spared? Or did he happen upon her at a time when his wolf had finally become settled into his existence, and was amenable to change and compromise?

A sudden restlessness took him. Staying in this room all night was insupportable to both him and his wolf. He paced the room, craving motion. The question was, what did he do with his night? His wolf instantly made a suggestion. Darcy paused, not liking it, and made a counteroffer. His wolf wasn't as happy about it, but agreed. So decided, they trotted to the door and nudged the handle, looking back at Charles expectantly.

Charles hesitated. "I wish Miss Elizabeth were here, so she could tell me what you wanted," he said softly. Darcy nudged the handle again, pointedly. He could have probably opened it himself, and definitely could have forced the door from its hinges, but in the interest of leaving as little a mark as possible, he preferred to not do it himself.

Charles shook his head. "I know you want out, that's not what I meant," he said. "I meant, she could have told me if you were safe to be out."

He huffed an impatient sigh. Of course he was safe! Hadn't Charles been in the room with him, fully transformed, for the last twenty minutes with nothing untoward happening? Unexpectedly Charles chuckled, and then leaned past him to open the door. Darcy blinked in surprise. "The way you rolled your eyes at me," Charles said with a smile. "That was all you, Darcy."

He felt strangely touched that his friend had recognized him. He took a moment to butt Charles' hand with his head--part of him felt awkward acting so dog-like, but his wolf assured him it was the proper way to show appreciation--and left the room.

In the hallway, he continued to the front door. He heard servants ahead of him, and his wolf reacted shockingly. He pressed back within, in such a way that there was suddenly room for Darcy's magic to emerge. Darcy almost fell over in pure surprise, but recovered quickly enough to cast a distraction spell over himself and Charles, who exited the room behind him. Charles stiffened when he saw the maids, but as they reached Darcy and Charles, the ladies looked away at the same time, and did not notice the man and the werewolf.

Darcy couldn't help but to grin. His wolf felt rather smug as well. Just one example of how profitable a true partnership with his wolf had become. He could now move freely, without worrying about being discovered. "Oh my God," Charles breathed. "You worked magic. As a wolf! You worked magic!" His voice ended in a squeak. Darcy snorted at him, and proceeded down the hall.

They passed a few other servants, and Louisa, before they finally reached the front door. None of them noticed the giant wolf in their midst, or Charles' shocked exclamations. Charles once again opened the door for him, and he trotted out into the night.

A sense of freedom filled him. The darkness was no barrier to him; colors were only enriched, the shadows made more stark, by his increased senses. Everything filled him with a sense of being truly alive. He had been content with his life before, being the master of Pemberley, supporting his sister, seeing to the needs of his tenants and enjoying the society of the ton. He had never been comfortable in large gatherings, and yet there were a handful of people whom he did not mind conversing with.

Little did he know how much he was missing. He had not been looking for anything, and yet his existence before seemed very limited. This summer had devastated him, both for his sister and for himself. He had thought his life was over. He had never dreamed he was just coming to live. Now he felt everything more keenly, took more pleasure in simple acts than he ever had. His paws hit the ground with a satisfying thump. His muscles clenched and lunged with powerful ease, propelling him forward far faster than he'd ever dreamed.

His chest swelled with the desire to howl, but he quelled it mercilessly. The last thing he needed was to bring more rumors of werewolves at Netherfield. His wolf didn't understand the need for secrecy, but was willing to bow to Darcy's experience. Together they ran, for the first time not to get somewhere, but for the exultation of being alive. Soon, he promised his wolf. When they returned to Pemberley, then he would not stop himself from howling, yes, even from hunting if it suited him. Pemberley's extensive grounds would be ideal for him to live as a werewolf. He could easily avoid people now, and not worry about harming anyone.

At leastÉ he slowed to a trot, panting lightly as he faltered. So long as he really wasn't hurting anyone. He had already hurt his sister enough. Would she be alright with his altered state? She knew of hisÉ he could no longer call it an affliction, he realized. His condition, then. It had been impossible to hide it from her. Not only had she seen him immediately after his attack, but her own abilities had made it impossible to hide from her. Several of the senior servants at Pemberley knew as well, at least the ones that had been part of the household for generations.

Obviously no one had exposed him yet, though he had been a great danger during his first months there. Seeing that he was no longer prey to mindless impulses, could he count on their continued silence? He determined at once that all the staff which knew deserved a raise. He was not bribing them, or trying to buy them, but they deserved a bonus for having to put up with his less than human state.

Recovered from his initial sprint, he sped to a lope he could maintain for hours. This was a night of no limitations. He would not give up control to his wolf, and yet he would not hold back either. He wanted to push himself, to see how far his new body could take him. Charles had done tests with him in the exercise room, but never had they the opportunity to test his wolf form. He wondered, if he had learned to make peace with his wolf, was it possible for others to do the same? Was that why werewolves were found out in the first months of their change, or not at all?

Certainly Wickham had avoided detection. He didn't know when the man had been first changed, but he could guess. It had been three years ago that Wickham, obviously sick and desperate, showed up on his doorstep, begging for the living that had fallen open. He had refused, and sent the man away. Had he known then what his actions had led to, would he have still acted so callously? Would the man still have sought revenge on him with Georgiana?

Perhaps not, another failing to lay at his door. His wolf was not used to failing, and snarled wordlessly. Yet he could not help what had occurred before his existence. Then again, had Darcy given the living to Wickham, he shuddered to think what a new werewolf would have done to the populace. If he was in any way typical of werewolves--and Charles indicated that he was--then there would have been scores of bodies to bury. Maybe even more werewolves to contend with.

He still didn't know if he had made the right choice. Had he failed his old childhood friend, or had Wickham been set on his path for as long had he'd known him? His steps slowed to a heavy walk. The problem with having nowhere to go wasÉ there was no impetus to keep moving. He was troubled by his thoughts and memories. Even his wolf was melancholy, not understanding his problems but still wishing to comfort him.

Would Georgiana be alright with him? When she saw that he was no longer suffering, would she be happy for him? Could she recover? In desperation, Charles had forced him from Georgiana's company, seeing that the siblings were doing nothing but harming each other with their individual hurts. He hadn't seen her in months now, and he missed her. He felt guilty that he had neglected her. In truth he had neglected all his responsibilities as he fought what he had become. Now that he was done fighting--he had no doubt there would still be struggles with his wolf, who snorted in agreement, but he was confident in their ability to come to compromise without bloodshed--he was ready to resume his duties.

Inevitably, he thought of the woman who had saved him from himself. Elizabeth. Her magic, though undeniably potent, was perhaps the least unique thing about her.

The way her eyes flashed when amused or angry. The scent of her, light and feminine, like wildflowers, belying the strength underneath. Her courage, even before she knew what he was. Her disregard for social customs when it suited her curiosity. He wasn't sure he admired this last trait of hers, but he had to admit that it certainly fell in the category of unique. It truly was a shame she was so far beneath him, that prevented him from forming any sort of attachment to her. He wondered what Georgiana would think of Elizabeth. What would Elizabeth see in his sister? Would she see another wounded person, as he had been, and unintentionally set out to heal her? His sister could use someone to confide it. He wondered if it was at all possible to arrange for the two of them to meet.

In the next moment he scolded himself. He was leaving Netherfield at first light, and he doubted he would ever return. It was not safe for him here, and it was time to get back to being who he was before. He had changed, and yet lives still depended on him. That would never change. There was no use in fantasizing a meeting between Elizabeth and Georgiana. Nor in picturing her at Pemberley. He wasn't even sure why his thoughts had suddenly tended toward her.

And then he looked up. His mouth went dry, and his wolf sniggered at him. While he had been lost in thought, his wolf had directed his steps, and unerringly led him to Longbourn. It was what he had wanted in the beginning, and now it looked as though the wolf had gotten his wish after all.

His eyes found the window that was hers. He wished he could say it was only his wolf who knew this, but he knew it as well. He stood in the open, clearly outlined by the moonlight, staring at her window like a pup. He did not intend to linger, but somehow he could not make his feet move. Nor was it wholly his wolf's doing either. The window coverings twitched, and he caught sight of a pale form before it disappeared.

That tore it. He had been seen, though it was his express intention to go undetected this night. It would be much better at Pemberley, when there would be nothing to draw his wolf. If it wasn't for her magic, then his wolf would not be nearly so distracted by her presence. Then again, without her magic, his wolf would likely still be a monster. He supposed he had to tolerate his wolf's pining, at least until tomorrow when they would be off.

He turned forcibly away from Longbourn, and began slowly pacing out of the garden. His wolf fought him, not with force this time, but with a deep yearning that filled his heart with pain. The door to Longbourn's kitchens opened. He froze.

"Mr. Darcy?" Elizabeth whispered. Had Charles been with him, he wouldn't have heard it. He didn't move, torn between going and staying, mortification and inevitability. Then softer still, "Fitz?" A sweet breath of magic followed her voice, and he was lost. His wolf was powerless to resist her, and he, trapped in his wolf's body, was equally taken.

He walked back to her, silent. He was grateful for his wolf's inherent dignity. Has his wolf been anything like Charles, he would have been fawning at her feet already. At last he stood before her. She was dressed in only her housecoat, and shivering with the cold. His wolf asked politely if he would cast a warmth spell. He wasn't sure how his wolf managed this without words, but he agreed to it anyway. He tried to make the spell subtle enough for her not to notice. If she just thought his wolf was in charge, like usual, then they would both be spared mortification.

She smiled and crouched down in front of him. She reached out a hand to touch his head and scratch his ears. It was a startling intimate gesture, and his wolf took an unwholesome amount of pleasure in it. Her other hand held something to her chest, and he extended his nose toward it cautiously. She tilted her hand to reveal the white kitten, sleeping soundly.

"His name is Maurice," she said fondly. "Thank you for him. I know it was you more than Mr. Darcy."

His wolf liked the way she talked to him directly, recognizing him as separate from Darcy. Darcy felt acutely uncomfortable with it, as he was just realizing that his wolf was far more like him than he'd thought. Besides, what did she mean by that? Did she think he was not sympathetic to the plight of a kitten? Who could look at that helpless ball of fur and not be moved? Beside Caroline Bingley, of course.
Elizabeth sighed, petting his head. His tail swung briefly behind him, but his wolf recognized her melancholy before Darcy. He whined softly. Darcy didn't like the way Elizabeth's presence called his wolf to the fore, and made him feel things otherwise foreign to him. He got the sense that his wolf was communicating with her, and was piqued to be left out.

She smiled and hugged him suddenly. "I'm alright. It would be nice if Mr. Darcy was more like you, Fitz."

His wolf gaped his jaws in a grin. That was quite enough! It was bad enough to be talked about as if he wasn't there, but to have his character thus judged--! He stood abruptly, shaking out his fur. His wolf didn't want to leave, but he was adamant against staying. Elizabeth remained kneeling in the garden. He refused to look back to see if she went in. He fumed silently as he entered the woods and began running again. Of course she would wish he were more like his wolf. His wolf was easily besotted with her and would deny her nothing.

Who was she to pass judgment on him anyway? Just a country miss, nothing to him, the master of Pemberley, a member of the highest circles. There were dozens of women in town that would--and had--thrown themselves at him. What did he care what a scrap of a woman, hardly more than a girl, said about him? And yetÉ treacherously he thought that none of the women of his acquaintance could hold half the conversation Elizabeth could. Not to mention the way she unashamedly applied her magic, heedless of whether it was seemly or proper.

No! He was done thinking of her! He ran all the way to Netherfield, desperately trying to outpace his thoughts. Charles must have seen him race across the lawn, because he was opening the door just as Darcy reached it. He glanced at Charles and growled under his breath. Charles paled, his knuckles turning white on the door. Darcy shook himself. It wasn't Charles he was upset with, but that chit of a woman. He stalked up to the library, temporarily forgetting that he couldn't slam back a glass of brandy in his current form. Brandy sounded nice. Not the actual liquid, but the numbing bliss it would bring him. Had brought him, before he became a werewolf.

Now alcohol had a depressing tendency to run through his system too quickly to actually get himself drunk. And even if he did become slightly inebriated, his wolf disliked it so much it wasn't worth it. Charles followed him to the library. The man sat in a chair, his eyes tracing the path he wove through the shelves.

Darcy grumbled to himself, sometimes out loud. Charles did not interrupt him, and gradually became less apprehensive. Darcy missed the use of his voice. He could have picked a fight with Charles, not about Miss Elizabeth, but any sort of subject. Just to vent the frustration in him. Or he could have had hands to play a game of chess, or billiards. Instead he had--he forced himself to stop pacing and looked down at himself--claws, meant for ripping. Teeth designed to tear. A thick fur coat to protect him from both cold and attack.

He wanted to destroy something. Not hurt someone--that was a distinct difference. But he was restless, needlessly upset over Miss Elizabeth's comment. He was more glad than ever he was not fond of her. Any tenderness of feeling he might have had was now obviously attributed to his wolf. Even that would fade, as they were leaving as soon as he was human again. Eventually he threw himself down in front of the fire, sprawled like a living rug.

Charles eyed him a moment, and then said, "I wish Miss Elizabeth were here. She could tell me what is wrong with you."

The mention of her name incensed him. He raised his head and growled at Charles. He stopped talking, but looked speculative. Having nothing else to speak of, he admitted, "I wrote a letter to Jane."

Darcy considered growling again at the improper use of the lady's name, but was suddenly too tired to care. Charles spoke on, over minor and unimportant subjects. Eventually he was lulled into a sense of complacency by his friend's voice. Time ticked on, reluctantly. He closed his eyes and dozed lightly. Every sound, from the heartbeat of his friend to the soft mewling of the kittens down the hall, still registered on his senses, but he had no need to act on them. He had never had such a restful full moon. Except for his brief visit to Miss Elizabeth, it had actually been rather boring. If he passed too many full moons like this, his wolf would grow fat and lazy, a kept dog, not a powerful wolf.

He wondered if Miss Elizabeth was upset by his abrupt leaving. Had she waited to see if he would return, or gone straight back inside? Had his warming spell lasted until she went in? At last a tingling in his spine warned him of the approaching dawn. His wolf yawned, and began a slow retreat. He stood, startling Charles. "Is it time?" he asked, and then got up to open the door for Darcy.

"I will rouse the household," Charles said. "Unless you want to rest first?"

Darcy snorted at that. The sooner he left Hertfordshire and Miss Elizabeth, the better. "Then come to the breakfast room as soon as you're dressed, and we'll be off," Charles told him. Darcy could not tell Charles how much he appreciated his friendship, but he gave the man a steady look and wagged his tail. Charles smiled, and seemed to understand. Perhaps communicating as a wolf was not going to be so difficult after all. Certainly, he would not need Miss Elizabeth to translate for him anymore. He could survive as a wolf without her.

The master of Pemberley turned toward his rooms, his paws silent on the carpet, his mind already on the roads ahead.

End of Part One

Nature of the Beast Interlude

Posted on: 2013-05-16

"What do you mean they're gone?" Lizzy asked again, pacing in Jane's room. Jane sat on her bed, looking pale. The note was limp in her hand, and Lizzy snatched it from her. Caroline Bingley's writing was short and to the point, giving no hint of the real reason for their departure. Lizzy could guess, though. No, she knew. Hadn't Fitz visited her last night, as if to say goodbye? She understood it, at least partly. With accusations of werewolves flying around the country, it was clear Mr. Darcy had to leave.

But did he have to take Mr. Bingley with him? She knew they were good friends, far more than could be guessed from their outward appearance. No, she didn't blame Mr. Bingley. But Mr. Darcy had used her sister hard. He held himself above the company in Hertfordshire. That much was obvious, even from the very beginning. He had to leave, and he took Mr. Bingley with him. That wouldn't have been so bad, but why couldn't he have allowed Mr. Bingley to visit and say goodbye?

She could only think it meant Mr. Darcy had disapproved of her favorite sister, and purposely kept his friend away from her. That was reason enough for Lizzy to hate him all over again. She remembered Mr. Wickham's tale against him freshly, and was able to put facts to his complaints. She could easily believe that in a fit of rage, Fitz had emerged to deal with what he saw as a threat. She had felt his great fury, knew what he was capable of. Especially if he truly had been the uncontrollable beast both Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley had claimed he was. She had no reason to doubt Mr. Bingley.

No wonder Mr. Wickham took pains to avoid Mr. Darcy. In the days following the defection of Netherfield, she had seen Mr. Wickham around Meryton, looking pale and nervous. He only seemed to relax when he realized that Mr. Darcy had truly fled the area. Meanwhile, Jane put on a brave face and acted as though nothing were wrong.

Only Lizzy saw how badly hurt she was. Mrs. Bennet's assurances that Mr. Bingley would soon return only hurt her further, especially as Mr. Bingley failed to come. Lizzy had hoped that Mr. Bingley would not be so callous to her sister, so easily led by his friend. Just a single note from him, saying that he intended to return, or even that he was breaking off his attentions would have been better than this cruel waiting, not knowing anything!

Lizzy could have cheerfully abused his character, but didn't for Jane's sake. Her sister was hurting, and she was powerless to help her. There was no tisane for heartbreak.

Darcy hated carriages. He hated carriages when he could run faster than one, and he hated being enclosed in one. He wolf twitched and snarled inside, restless with impatience. He would be at Pemberley in just a few hours, having left Charles in London and deciding to visit his home and sister for the winter season. The few letters of correspondence he had had from Georgiana did little to assure him of her recovery. The single piece of good news he had received was her reply to the letter he wrote at Netherfield.

He had been more at ease then, for the first time since becoming a werewolf. His letter had been more genuine than any he had sent in a long time, he acknowledged painfully, and her reply had been the most hopeful he had heard since that summer.

They didn't talk about what happened at Ramsgate, but every line of her letter had whispered, Do you forgive me? There was nothing to forgive, no matter how many times he told her, but she insisted on taking the blame for everything on herself. What he hadn't been able to ask was if she had forgiven him. He had failed to keep her safe at Ramsgate, and then he had failed even more to keep her safe during his first transformation at Pemberley. He had terrified his sister. Thank God Charles and Richard had been there, or it might have been an even greater disaster. There would have been blood on the floor.

And now he was returning to her. Part of him was in constant panic, wondering what he was doing away from Charles, away even from Elizabeth who could help him control his wolf. It was true Elizabeth's magic slid off him when his wolf so chose, but he was calmer when she was around, regardless of any magic involved. Viciously he shoved Elizabeth out of his mind. He was still smarting over her last comment, and determined to think no more of her. He acknowledged that he had perhaps grown a little closer to her than had been wise, but that was at an end now. He would never visit Hertfordshire again, and not think of any of the Bennets any longer.

He admitted, reluctantly, that he would be forever grateful for his stay in that area. He had learned to accept his wolf, to regain control of himself there. Elizabeth had been a big part of that. Without her interference, he would have never seen that his wolf was not a monster, not a feral spirit of rage. Without her, he would have never dared to see his sister and resume his place at Pemberley and London. But that chapter of his life was over now. If his wolf had been an infant at the beginning, then he had matured past the terrible twos at Hertfordshire, and was still a young child, but one who no longer threw tantrums. One who was learning to take on the responsibilities of his position.

Hertfordshire had been a sort of nursery, and he was beyond that now. He could no longer lean on a crutch, whether it was distance, a person, a cage and silver ring, or his friend. He had to stand on his own now. He would make his apologies to Georgiana, and hope she could accept him. If notÉ he shuddered as he felt wholly inadequate to face his sister. What if he still frightened her? Georgiana was sensitive. She felt everything so keenly. He tortured himself with what-ifs until roads outside the carriage turned achingly familiar.

He had seen these roads all his life, and yet he had never seen them like this before, with new eyes and new senses to take in every detail. Everything was sharper, as though he replaced old fuzzy memories with fresh clear ones. Despite his misgivings, he found himself growing excited. He missed his home. He realized he was even looking forward to introducing his wolf to Pemberley, as though his wolf had become a new acquaintance he was bringing home. In a way, he was.

At Darcy's request, the carriage stopped at a rise of the hill. Darcy got out and stretched his legs. Below him, picturesque, was Pemberley laid out in all her glory. The depth of the grounds all around only hinted at the richness of her lands. He had never known a place more beautiful, or more likely to call to him back home. His wolf was stirred by his excitement, and looked around curiously. His wolf had only vague, painful memories of Pemberley, and did not recognize the vista below. He wanted to know why Darcy was so happy to be here.

"This is home," he whispered to himself.

Home? the wolf echoed, in the way he had begun to lately. It was highly disconcerting the first time it happened, but it was becoming more common. His wolf was maturing. He could feel the way his wolf took an even greater interest in their surroundings, and felt the moment he laid claim to this land.

Home, he repeated, this time with deep satisfaction. A grin spread across Darcy's face. Things were going to be fine.

He got back into the carriage, and they continued on. The carriage pulled up to the front door, where he was surprised to see a formal turnout of the servants. He did not usually receive such treatment, but then his leaving had been particularly harsh. He felt as though he had been sick and fevered for a long time, and was now coming back to his senses.

At the head of the stairs was his sister, looking pale and fragile next to Mrs. Reynolds and Mrs. Annesley. She looked so young, still the child he had had to raise on his own. And then he blinked, and realized she stood nearly as tall as Mrs. Reynolds, and was in fact perhaps an inch taller than Mrs. Annesley. How had his little sister grown up like that? Why would she do that to him?

He could scarcely breathe as he traveled down the line of servants. He had known many all his life, and yet he only had eyes on Georgiana. This was perhaps the most important meeting of his life, in this instant right here. How would his wolf react to her? How would she react to him? He was at the bottom step now. Was she trembling? The smile on her face looked both timid and wavering. He wanted to crush whoever made her look like that, and knew it was himself.

His wolf surged upward, drawn by his own anxiety. Georgiana felt it, her eyes widening and her face going even more pale. His muscles locked into place. He could not allow himself to approach her if his wolf was uncertain. He would not frighten her again. His wolf took in his surroundings calmly, noting the servants. And then his attention fell on Georgiana. He stopped, eyeing her slowly.

This one, he wolf said, and Darcy braced himself for the wolf's reaction. This one is ours to protect. It was the first complete sentence his wolf had ever spoken, as if to underscore the importance of this moment. A sudden grin split Darcy's face, and he crossed the distance to his sister in an instant. She didn't have time to step back from him before he lifted her into the air with a laugh. He hugged her as if she was still a young child. She was stiff in his arms for a moment, and then softened, looking at him in wonder.

He let her down, and she touched his face. He knew she felt both himself and his wolf, and wondered at the change in them. "I'm so glad to see you, little one," he told her, quite unable to stop grinning.

"Fitzwilliam?" Georgiana whispered, then threw her arms around him. "I've missed you so much!"

His throat felt suddenly tight, and he had to blink rapidly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mrs. Reynolds' small, approving smile, and warmth flooded him. He was truly home at last. He pulled back from Georgiana. "Can you meet me in my study in half an hour?" he asked her. "I have something to show you." It was time for some confessions.

Charles knew he couldn't count on a reply right away, but even still that didn't stop him from checking the post eagerly each day. He was disappointed every time, but that didn't stop him from hoping. He had put his letter in the entry hall, where it couldn't possibly be missed. He had no doubt it had been sent the day they left. His angel would have known that he wasn't leaving her. Perhaps there was a delay in the roads between London and Hertfordshire.

No doubt she had to be discreet about her reply. Perhaps she was waiting for a piece of her father's business to come to London to take her response. He was cheered immeasurably by that thought. Still, he was a little saddened that he hadn't heard anything by the time Darcy left London, three days after their arrival. That wasn't a very great time, though. And he could never be upset with Jane. She cared for him deeply, no matter what Darcy said.

But a week passed with no answer, and then two. He tried hard to put on a brave face, but he was starting to doubt a little more each day. It didn't help that his sisters were ecstatic about being back in London, and insisted on dragging him to various functions around town. He was even forced to dance! None of his partners had even a part of the grace of Jane, and he felt her lack sharply.

Maybe Jane's letter had gotten lost. He should write her another one, to be sure he knew he was serious about courting her. He was tempted to ride straight to Hertfordshire and talk to her father at once. It was the impulsive kind of thing that Darcy hated, and he tried to keep himself under control.

Days passed, and the weather worsened, making travel impossible. He thought of Jane every day, until he was sick with love of her. A love that perhaps she did not return? Had she been affronted by his letter? She must think him a cad for not seeing her in person. He cursed himself for not taking just one more day to see her. But it had been imperative to get Darcy out of Hertfordshire as quickly as possible. He wondered how Darcy was doing with Georgiana. Had they reached a peace? He certainly could have used some of Darcy's steady advice right about now.

Charlotte Lucas was married to Mr. Collins. Lizzy attended. She knew Charlotte had wanted her to stand up with her, but was unable to do it. In the end, Charlotte did not ask, and Lizzy didn't offer. Still, it was impossible to miss the relief on Charlotte's face when she saw Lizzy standing in the church. It made Lizzy feel better for having come, and also guilty for the way she'd treated her friend. Charlotte was going to have a hard enough time with her new husband. The least Lizzy could do was not withdraw her support at this time. She had just a few minutes to talk to the new Mrs. Collins at the wedding breakfast. They promised to correspond regularly. And then it was time for Charlotte to leave.

It felt like everything was falling apart around Lizzy. The marriage brought back Mrs. Bennet's resentments against Lizzy, and it looked as though she was actually close to disinheriting her daughter. Not only that, but Jane was falling deeper into depression. She spoke when asked a question, ate at meals, filled her time with mending or embroidery, but there was never any effort in it. Mrs. Bennet took every opportunity to abuse Mr. Bingley now, not seeing how it only made Jane crumble further. She pleaded with her father to do something, to no avail. The best she got was a vague promise to send Jane to her aunt and uncle if Mrs. Bennet got too bad. They differed on what too bad meant.

Caroline Bingley was utterly smug with herself. She had found Charles' letter to that chit Jane Bennet, and had burned it. It was one of her finer moments, second only to the day when she finally secured Darcy's hand. Now if only Charles would stop moping about it! How was she ever to find a match for him, if he didn't make the effort to look presentable? He was spending more time at his bloody practice than socializing! She kept telling him to ask for an invitation to Pemberley for Christmas, but he refused each time.

If only she could find a way to put him in the way of Georgiana! They would make a good match indeed, and then Darcy would see it was only logical to marry her! Keep everything in the family, of course. She couldn't wait to be mistress of Pemberley. There were things she wanted to change, starting with the master himself, of course. She smiled to herself, already plotting her dominion.

Charles knew, vaguely, that he was in a depression. He also knew it was Jane's fault, but he refused to blame her for anything. It was better to say that it was because of Jane, but it was entirely his fault. He was the one that had fallen in love with her. He was the one that had lost her forever. So he worked, taking on patients, treating them, and avoiding his sister. He took to sleeping at the clinic. Food was dull to him, speech meaningless. Some of his regulars noticed, and tried to help him. He was beyond help. Only an angel could help him now, and she wasn't writing to him.

He had received a few notes from Darcy, saying how well Georgiana was getting on, and that Darcy was better than he ever been. Charles was genuinely happy for the siblings, but it was hard to maintain it for long. They didn't need him. He had helped once, but clearly he was supercilious now. He sent back a single letter, offering his congratulations and little more. Darcy knew winter was his busy time at the clinic, and wouldn't think anything of it.

He would get over her, eventually, he thought. He hoped. He prayed. How did one survive the touch of an angel, when the angel left him?

He was no longer around Darcy, and so he had little reason to keep track of the moon. However, it was impossible to miss the bright waxing gibbous moon the night the boy knocked on his door. The boy was tall and thin, no more than fourteen years of age. His eyes were bright with a fevered intensity. His sunken, dirty cheeks spoke of recent deprivation, and yet his voice was smooth and educated when he asked, "Pardon me doctor, but do you have any wolfsbane, or know an apothecary where I might obtain a dram?" He held himself was a feral energy that Charles recognized instantly.

He stared at the moon, not looking at the youth. Not again, he pleaded, and then cursed at the silvery orb. Just four days until the full moon. He had so little time. "You'd better come in," he said heavily. The boy hesitated, but eventually stepped inside. It was difficult to lure him into the cage in the basement. The boy screamed and pounded on the bars when Charles locked him in. There was nothing for it, though. Charles shut the basement door firmly against the noise, and then sat at his desk. He had a letter to write.

Darcy walked through the snow, checking on his tenants after the last heavy fall. It crunched and squeaked under his weight, and he cursed again that he could not ride a horse through this mess. He had made great strides in actually being able to be near one without sending it into a panic. It worked best when he was calm, and not hungry. It would still be a long time, if ever, before he was able to ride, though. At least he was able to drive a curricle now, if he was careful.

But a curricle would find the current weather too difficult to pass, and so he was stuck traveling on foot. The tenants were fine, their houses snug and warm against the snow. Now to return to his own snug and warm home. The moon, only two days from full, tugged at him, but both he and his wolf were too eager to get out of the snow to listen to its call.

He followed the longer path by road, avoiding the deep snow that covered the direct route through the fields. Pemberley came into sight, and he sped his pace happily. His breath steamed in the air, but he was not cold. Winter was a great time to be a werewolf. His constitution protected him from illness, and unless he got soaked to the skin, he was never cold. Ahead, he saw Georgiana standing at the side door he used, well bundled against the chill.

What was she doing out? They had taken to wandering the grounds of Pemberley together, but it was too cold and snowy for that! He broke into a run, covering the ground in great leaps. Was something wrong? When he got closer, he saw that she was not worried, and sudden mischief lit his soul. His wolf sniggered as well. Darcy sped toward his sister, at the last moment skidding to a halt in a such a way to kick up snow over her.

She squealed and batted at the snow. "Fitzwilliam!" she protested, but was laughing. He panted from the run, waiting for her to explain why she was out there. She petted his head, brushing snow off his fur. His coat was so well insulated that flakes didn't even melt when they landed on him. "You got a letter from Mr. Bingley," she informed him. "It's marked urgent. I hope everything is alright with him?"

He gave a wolfish shrug, one that involved the whole body rather than just the shoulders. He moved a distance away from her, then shook himself vigorously to leave as much snow as possible outside. Georgiana stepped inside first, under his stern eye, and then he followed. She shut the door behind him, but did not immediately begin removing her outerwear. She must have been waiting for him a while, to have gotten cold. He hoped she hadn't caught a chill.

"I told Mrs. Reynolds to put it in your study," she said when he cocked his head at her. "She's also sending up a warm tea. May I visit in a little while?"

He dipped his muzzle in agreement, and padded down the hallway. She knew to give him enough time to change and dress, but her curiosity over the letter was obvious. They walked side by side until they reached her room. He left wet paw prints, despite his effort to shake off before entering the house.

Servants that saw them smiled kindly at Georgiana, and some even touched his head or back in greeting. They were quite used to seeing Georgiana with her "dog," named after the brother who had given said dog to her. He did not like to think where he had gotten that idea from. The upper servants all knew the truth, and followed the cover for all the others. After Georgiana had left, a bootboy, in the latter category, stopped and offered him a biscuit. He sniffed politely but declined. It amused him that the biscuit was probably purloined from them tea Mrs. Reynolds had sent to his study.

In his study, he stood in front of the fire and shed his fur for skin. He had taken to concealing a change of clothing in every room of the house he frequented often, and now he availed himself of them. He sat at his desk and sipped hot tea with a happy sigh. Life was so much better than it had been before. With a little magic and a little woodwork, he had rigged every door in Pemberley to open to his wolf form. He was locked out of nowhere in his home. Mrs. Reynolds knew, of course, as her own magic was such that she knew if a splinter was out of place in her domain. She had seen the worst of him, and had not forsaken him then or now.

Best of all, he had a sister that no longer feared him, in either of his forms. She still was not the carefree child she had been before Ramsgate, but nor was she the broken girl from when he left. They had both grown and changed, and their reunion was all the sweeter for it. He looked at the letter from Charles and broke the seal. His contentment did not last beyond the reading of it. It was incredibly short, and yet strange.

Darcy--

--Charles

There was a soft knock on the door. He almost missed it, but his wolf was quick to point it out to him. His wolf absolutely cherished Georgiana, and didn't mind playing the role of her dog. "Come in," he called absently. His sister entered, and took a seat across from his desk.

"Is Mr. Bingley well?" she asked quickly. The man was like another brother to her, cemented by the way he had stood between Darcy's wolf and herself during his first disastrous change. He wondered if she was partial to his friend, but she had given no indication in that direction. He might have thought she was hiding it from him, but his wolf was quick to assure him that her feelings were completely platonic toward Charles. It appeared that his wolf shared some of his sister's talent, though thankfully not as strong. Having one sensitive empath in the house was difficult enough.

"I don't know, what do you make of this?" he asked, passing her the letter.

She read it, frowning. "That doesn't seem like him," she said doubtfully. "Do you think he's in trouble?"

"I think it's entirely like him," he responded with a brief smile. "He is rather impulsive. He would invite me over someplace at a drop of a hat, and scrawl a note to send as an urgent message."

"But?" Georgiana asked, reading his doubt.

"He's not usually this urgent about it. He usually says something like, 'old chap, you've got to get here. Please say you'll get here as soon as possible.' "

"But not this time. He seems worried about something. He knows it's almost the full moon, but he wants you in London at that time?" She gasped suddenly, and her alarm made his wolf growl silently. "You don't think it's a trap, do you? Someone found him out, and is holding him hostage to expose you?"

He shook his head quickly. "No, if that were the case, Charles would have no problem saying as much in a note. I would know."

"What are you going to do?"

"I thinkÉ I'll be traveling to London," he said slowly.

"But with a carriage, in this weather, it will take days to get there!"

"I may travel on my own, and have the carriage follow later," he said, and their eyes met in understanding. Georgiana stood and came around his desk to hug him.

"Be safe, brother," she said. "Invite Mr. Bingley for Christmas. OnlyÉ"

He chuckled. "Not his sisters?"

"Fitzwilliam! You won't say anything, will you?"

"Not if you don't want me to, princess."

"I don't," she said firmly. "When will you leave?"

"First light, I think. The sooner I get there, the sooner I see what ails him. Hopefully it is something minor, and I can come back as soon as may be. Will you be alright?"

She nodded, with more confidence than she had shown when he first arrived. His wolf rumbled his approval at her, and her face pinked as she felt both of feelings toward her. It was harder for her to make out the wolf's emotions, and with his training as a mage he was able to block her when he wished to, but at that moment both halves of him wanted her to know how proud they were of her. Knowing that not just her brother but his wolf also had a great affection and pride in her had helped her immensely.

She left his study, and he went to his rooms to begin packing. He would take nothing with him to London, not even clothes, and hoped Charles would have something for him to wear when he got there. It wasn't like a wolf could carry a set of clothes in his mouth to London, after all.

Lizzy missed Charlotte. Jane was finally in London with the Gardiners, and she found herself quite by herself. It was too cold to spend a lot of time outdoors, and she was going stir crazy being locked inside. Her mother still had not forgiven her, and it was nearly as cold inside the house as it was outside. She missed her friend, missed having someone sensible to talk to. She still could not imagine a life with Mr. Collins, but perhaps Charlotte's steady influence was good for him.

After a particularly hard day, Lizzy sat down at last to write a letter to her friend.

There was a whine and a scratch at the door. Charles stood quickly and opened the door. Darcy, in his wolf form, shouldered his way into the room. Charles stifled a sudden gulp. He had forgotten just how big Darcy was as a wolf. He hadn't been expecting him so soon, but it was just as well. Tomorrow was the first night of the full moon, and Charles didn't know what else to do with the teenage werewolf in his basement.

There was something different about Darcy, he thought. Before he had time to figure it out, Darcy gently bit the corner of his sleeve and tugged. Charles stared for a moment, and then said, "Oh! You don't have clothes with you, do you? I used to have some here, butÉ" he shrugged, his heart contracting in pain. He had been avoiding his townhouse. His sisters were entirely too sympathetic to his loss, as they tried to introduce him to yet another young lady that couldn't hold a candle to an angel's beauty, and he didn't want more reminders.

Darcy growled softly. He looked up in surprise. Darcy's eyes stared at him, and Charles had the sudden impression that he knew everything. To his surprise, his face was wet with tears. He brushed them away brusquely. "I'm fine," he insisted. Darcy stood and leaned hard against him. He staggered against the weight. He had the feeling he had just been hugged by a werewolf. Feeling slightly better, he stepped out to send for a change of clothes for Darcy.

There was nothing to do but sit there and study Darcy. He sat in a corner of the room, making an effort to be out of the way. He wasÉ calmer than he had been, Charles realized. There had always been an air of repressed violence around him before, like the boy downstairs. Now Darcy looked as easy as a dog. Charles felt more than ever that he had done the right thing for the youth. It was either call Darcy, or call Miss Elizabeth, and he couldn't bring himself to court more pain from that directionÉ

"This boy came a few days ago, asking for wolfsbane," Charles spoke, since Darcy couldn't. "He's got to be a werewolf. He won't tell me his name or anything, but I couldn't let him go. I don't know what you can do for him, if anything, but it's got to be better than nothing."

Darcy's nose dipped and rose in what looked suspiciously like a nod. How much Darcy had changed! Charles suddenly realized that he must have run all the way from Pemberley! He should have been exhausted. For that matter, he had been able to travel through the heart of London without fear of losing control and hurting someone. The Darcy he had last seen had been better, but not that good. He found himself smiling. It hurt a little from disuse, but felt good.

"How's Georgiana?"

The corners of Darcy's mouth lifted in a canine smile, and his tail thumped noisily on the cabinets behind him.

"That's good," he said with real feeling. At least someone was happy. Darcy tilted his head to the side, giving Charles pointed look. Damn, it was unnerving how expressive Darcy could be now. He was certainly not the mute wolf he had been before. He looked away.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said miserably. Darcy rose to his feet, but at that moment there was another knock at his door, and he opened it to accept a valise from a messenger. He tipped the man, and turned back to Darcy. The werewolf gained human form and dressed quickly. The borrowed clothes did not fit well on him, but at least he was not stark naked.

"Charles," Darcy said at once, clasping him on the shoulder. "You don't look so good. What's going on?"

"I really don't want to talk about it," he repeated, not able to meet Darcy's eyes. He wished Darcy would drop his hand, but he didn't move.

After a moment he said, "I guess Miss Bennet--"

Charles hit him. He hauled back and slugged Darcy in the mouth as hard as possible. Darcy's head rocked back, and his hand tightened on his shoulder, but otherwise did not react.

"I could have stopped that, you know," Darcy said quietly.

He shrugged. "Don't care."

Darcy sighed. "You're hurting, Charles. I'm sorry." He moved away then, opening cupboards until he found a towel to mop up the blood from his mouth. Charles got the impression that not only could Darcy have stopped him, but he wasn't particularly angry about the blow either. Before the man would have laid him flat on the ground for it. The wolf wouldn't have allowed such a challenge to stand.

His hand ached, but not as much as his heart. Darcy turned back to him, the bleeding stopped. "Let's see your werewolf, then," he said calmly, as though nothing had happened.

Lizzy was surprised to get a reply so fast. Her first unfriendly thought was that Charlotte must be truly desperate with only Mr. Collins and Catherine de Bourgh for company. In the next moment she chided herself for her uncharitable reaction. She was just grateful Charlotte had sent a response. She opened the letter and read eagerly. The letter was a bit awkward, not their usual interaction, but it was a start in the right direction.

She got out a pen and paper, and began her own reply. In the end, it was more important to have Charlotte's friendship than to begrudge her choices.

Charles would never forget the first full moon with Alain. He had thought at first Darcy might kill the young werewolf. The very first night, Darcy's great wolf had descended on the smaller, rangy wolf and all but shredded him. Darcy took him by the throat, clenching until Alain stopped moving. Only then did Darcy back away. Charles was nearly sobbing by then, thinking it had been a huge mistake to introduce the two of them.

And then Alain had risen, looked around, and slunk into the corner. There was no blood on him, no permanent wounds at all. There were other confrontations, both that night and the two nights to come, but each time Darcy only held on until Alain submitted to him. By the end of the full moon, Alain was not in control of himself, but at least his wolf would hesitate before blindly launching himself with rage.

Through it all, Darcy never lost control. Charles was impressed by it, and even more by what he found when he came into the basement the morning after the full moon. Darcy and Alain, sitting in the cage and talking quietly. Darcy had introduced himself formally, and was offering advice to the young man.

Darcy stayed in London for a couple more days, spending most of his time with Alain, and then returned to Pemberley to be with his sister. However, he was back again in a week for more instructions. Alain stayed with Charles, but Darcy set up a fund to account for Alain's board and care. Far from just teaching him how to be a werewolf, Darcy also gave him school lessons, and as he became less of a danger to the public, a tutor.

There was no doubt that the presence of an older, stronger werewolf was calming to the young lad. More than that, Alain came to respect Darcy, and even Charles. As the travel took its toll on Darcy, and Alain's wolf began to calm into rationality, Darcy opted to take Alain to Pemberley for a week at a time. He began to teach the lad how to become a wolf outside the full moon.

The first time, Charles declined the invitation. Darcy gave him a piercing look, and let him be. The next time, Darcy protested, and Charles found out that he hadn't been lying when he said he was strong enough to put up with whatever Charles or fledging werewolves could throw at him. Thereafter, he always came to Pemberley. The Darcys adopted him, the same as they had adopted Alain.

He was not the same person he was before. He would never forget the angel he'd briefly seen. He would never recover from her touch. He still didn't know why she had left him, but he could not stop pining for her. He didn't smile like before, didn't feel as free as he had been. Yet life went on, and somehow he survived it.

The winter wore on, and Lizzy exchanged letters regularly with both her sister and Charlotte. Jane seemed happy, taking care of their young cousins on Gracechurch street, and yet her letters were always lacking in something. She spoke of generalities, of the adventures of her wards, but never of her feelings, or the pain she still felt. Charlotte's letters on the other hand spoke of many things, from her feelings to the day to day dealings of the parishioners on the living. However, she never spoke about her husband, and hardly mentioned Catherine de Bourgh.

The cold winter weather broke, and springtime came back to the world. Lizzy felt refreshed. Everything was growing around her, their green strength singing to her. Her kitten Murray became lively. He could not hear, and yet that did not affect him in any other way. When she wanted him, she only had to gesture with her magic, and he came running toward her. Of course, that meant he never responded to anyone else in the household. He was a favorite of hers alone, but she didn't mind that.

As the weather grew warmer, and travel became more possible, she received an invitation to visit Charlotte in Hunsford. She was startled by it at first, and then accepted the invitation with alacrity. A change would be good for her, and she was looking forward to seeing her friend in person. If Charlotte was telling the truth in her letters, if she truly was as happy as she sounded, then Lizzy could be happy for her. It still was not the choice she would ever make, but Charlotte was her own person.

So it was decided, in the last week of March she would travel to Hunsford.

Darcy laid on his back on the grassy knoll, staring up at the bright blue sky without seeing it. His hands were clasped behind his head. Georgiana laid next to him. He was supposed to be cloud watching with his sister and enjoying the warm sunlight, but his mind was on Richard's letter from that morning. A cousin of that Collins man, visiting the parson's wife. It could only be one of the Bennets. The question was, which one?

He only vaguely remembered Charlotte Lucas from his time in Hertfordshire. He thought the two oldest Bennet girls were the ones closest to her, but which one was more likely? Was it the oldest, Miss Bennet? The one that had caused his friend so much pain and misery? He had tried to warn Charles before, but Charles had been insistent that he was wrong. Now he wished he truly had been mistaken. He'd rather see Charles happily married to an inferior girl--in connections only, as Miss Bennet's manners had always been impeccable--than in his current wretchedness.

There was nothing to be done for it now. Charles had been heartbroken before, but never to this extent. Even his wolf was somewhat worried over him, though they had very different ideas about what to do about it. Darcy was all for giving Charles time, and keeping an eye on him in case he did something stupid. His wolf was more in favor of rounding up the interested parties and throwing them in a pit together until they worked out their differences. Ever direct, his wolf was.

But what if it wasn't Miss Bennet at Hunsford? What if it was Elizabeth? He hadn't seen her in roughly four months, and yet the thought of her was still enough to cause his wolf to take notice. He had gotten his news several stages removed. His aunt Catherine de Bourgh had written a letter to Lady Fitzwilliam, complaining about the impertinent girl staying with her parson. Somehow Richard had gotten hold of that letter, and had written to him, both making fun of their aunt's imperiousness and slyly suggesting that they go rescue the lady in general.

Or rather, Richard would rescue her, while Darcy provided distraction for their aunt. It wasn't his fault that Aunt Catherine practically ignored Richard in favor of Darcy, but it always worked out to Richard's advantage. Darcy had never minded, too much, until he thought the girl in need of rescuing might be Elizabeth. Then his wolf growled warningly. Richard knew he was a werewolf, but the last time his cousin had seen him, he had still been sick and young. Should Richard cause a confrontation, then he would see just how much Darcy had grown since that summerÉ

Not that Richard was likely to cause a confrontation. Richard was always the one urging him to be more outgoing. If he genuinely had an interest in another person, especially a woman, then Richard was quite likely to step aside for him. He hoped. Or his cousin would realize just how many advantages a werewolf had over him. He forced the thought of conflict from his head. After all this time, the one thing that got him stirred up every time was still Elizabeth.

"Fitzwilliam?" Georgiana asked. "You seem distracted today."

His lips curved upward as his wolf turned indulgent. "Nothing to worry about, princess. Just received a letter today."

"Nothing bad has happened? Is it Mr. Bingley?" she asked anxiously. That was one habit he hadn't been able to break her of, always assuming the worst.

"No, nothing bad. And not from Charles. From Richard."

"Cousin Richard? How does he do? Is his injury very bad again? Are they sending him out again?"

His wolf gave a grumbling admonishment that caused her to stop talking. He chuckled. "Nothing bad, I told you. No, it appears that our least favorite aunt has a visitor, and Richard wishes to come to the rescue."

He couldn't see her face, but her tone conveyed her wrinkled nose perfectly. "I don't have to come, do I? Aunt Catherine is tooÉ mean."

"No, you don't my dear. Richard only wants me there as a stalking horse for Aunt Catherine."

"But you want to go," she said shrewdly. "Who is visiting Aunt Catherine?" Sometimes it was hard to hide things from an empath.

"Not Aunt Catherine exactly, but her parson's wife. You know he married someone from Hertfordshire, where I was last year. Someone from there is visiting, and of course our aunt must interfere." Was it Elizabeth? As little as he wanted to admit it, if he had confirmation of her presence he'd probably be off at that moment. The thought of Elizabeth subjected to his aunt made both parts of him bristle.

Georgiana was silent for a moment. He should have realized it meant she was thinking seriously. Instead he was lost in a daydream about Elizabeth. How would it be to see her again? He wanted to see her, not just his wolf. Had she missed him? Thought about him? Would she have that white kitten with her still? Would she be impressed with the progress he had made? Would she be as proud of Alain as he was? Would she realize that he couldn't have done any of it without her early influence?

"Is she the young woman you keep thinking about?" Georgiana asked suddenly.

He choked. "What are you talking about?" he sputtered. "You're an empath, not a mind reader!"

She smiled, but refused to be distracted. "Ever since you came back, you've been thinking about a young woman you met there. You've been missing her, even if you don't know it. If it really is the same woman, you should go."

"How do you know she's a young woman?" He sat up so he could see his sister's face. She colored slightly, and wouldn't meet his eyes.

"People react differently when they're thinking about other people, depending on how old or young their subjects, and male or female, and a bunch of things," she shrugged.

"And?" he prompted dangerously, suspicious of where this topic was heading.

"And, well, you feel differently about young, unmarried women than you do about old married ones, or men of any age. It's really subtle, but once I recognized it, it became quite obvious. And there's only been one person you've been thinking of from there, because you always feel the same when you're distracted like that."

"Georgiana!" he exclaimed, pronouncing her name slowly. "I don't want to hear any more of this! And stop snooping in my mind."

"Not your mind," she sniffed. "Your emotions. And it's hard not to. You were thinking of her just now."

He growled under his breath. Georgiana reading his emotions as he thought about Elizabeth, or anyone else for that matter. Now that was scary. He knew he was difficult to read, especially when he made an effort. But if she ever came into contact with another rake, that surge of greed and lust would strike her hard. No wonder Wickham had found it so easy to take advantage of her.

"Now you're feeling guilty," she whispered. "I wish you would stop it."

His wolf agreed with her. He didn't wish to forget, but he was only willing to recall it as it gave him rage in case the blackguard was ever under his claws again. He had grown even stronger since taking Alain under his wing. Wickham would realize he had a few more tricks under his fur.

"That's anger. That's not any better," Georgiana said, sitting up and wrapping her arms around her knees with a shiver. His wolf took control, abruptly shoving Elizabeth's image in front of his eyes. Yet it wasn't just a picture of her, but also her scent, her voice, the feel of her hands and magic, the taste of hope and triumph she had given him. He smiled without realizing it, entirely lost in recollection.

Georgiana tilted her head to the side, wolf-like. "Who is she?" she asked curiously.

He shrugged uncomfortably. "Someone I met. She helped me. I was pretty lost, you know, but she has a kind of magic that helped me find myself." He was afraid of what else his sister might be picking up from him, and made an effort to screen his emotions. She cocked her head in the other direction, watching him closely.

"I think you really need to go," she said with young wisdom. "You never thanked her, did you? I can tell. Only, what about Alain?"

"Alain can stay with Charles," he said. "If I need to, I'll return to London for the full moon." He frowned, thinking of his young charge. The boy wasn't quite ready to change on his own during the full moon, especially if he was going to have to be caged for it. Both their wolves hated it, but there was too much risk in him getting loose in the dense population of London.

"So you will go?" she asked eagerly, clasping her hands in front of her. "It's almost worth seeing Aunt Catherine to see her! What's her name? What's she like? Will I get to meet her?"

"I don't even know if it's her at Rosings Park!" he protested with a laugh that he hoped covered the nervous beating of his heart. But it was. The youngest Bennets hadn't been particular friends of Miss Lucas, and Miss Bennet was hardly someone even his aunt could label impertinent. No, even if Richard's report was only half exaggerated, it was definitely Elizabeth. Lovely Elizabeth.

"Her name," he said slowly, "is Miss Elizabeth Bennet. And that is all you're going to get, young lady!"
They laughed together, as he stood and pulled his sister to her feet.

Posted on: 2013-05-20

Chapter Fifteen

The rector's house was actually rather nice. It wasn't very large, but it was homely. Lizzy could clearly see Charlotte's hand in the furnishings. They were comfortable and warm, soft earth tones that put one in mind of a light filled burrow. At least, that was what they reminded Lizzy of. She had always thought the burrows of some of her friends, rabbits and gophers and the like, were comfortable and dry, all naturally worn curves and grace. To her, a burrow did not mean a wet dank hole in the ground with nothing to recommend it. Still, she kept her opinions of burrows to herself, and complimented Charlotte's taste.

The few things that seemed out of place were the curtains, black with a garish profusion of yellow roses over them. There was also a cushion which matched the curtains, which Charlotte attempted to hide under other cushions when she was able. Having dined at Rosings Park her second night at Hunsford, she did not wonder where the clashing material had come from. Lady Catherine de Bourgh's preference to yellow roses to the exclusion of everything else could not be doubted.

Of the lady herself and her sickly daughter, Lizzy had little to say. She might have been accused of impertinence, but Lady Catherine could only be accused of outright rudeness. For the sake of her friend, Lizzy had spent much of the evening biting her tongue, and smiling stiffly. Upon learning through Mr. Collin's toadying speech that Lizzy had met Mr. Darcy, Lady Catherine had lost no time in informing her that Mr. Darcy was engaged to her daughter.

Lizzy knew at once that they did not know of Mr. Darcy's condition. Lady Catherine's lofty condescension made that abundantly clear. And as for Anne de Bourgh being engaged to Mr. DarcyÉ good luck! A more pallid, wormlike creature she could not imagine. She had known skinks with more energy and determination that Anne had shown. Perhaps her exalted bloodline was a match for Mr. Darcy's, but she could not imagine the girl holding the attention of Fitz for more than a second. She almost pitied the wolf, trapped into such a bond by useless human convention.

It was no business of hers, though, and she was determined to think nothing of it. She had been at Hunsford for a week, and had dined with Lady Catherine once, and once endured her visit to Hunsford. She had had quite enough of the woman. Far more embarrassing was the bowing and scraping of Mr. Collins to Lady Catherine, and the pained looked in Charlotte's eyes as she was forced to do the same. Charlotte wasn't so dismally subservient as her husband, and yet she was obligated to follow suit.

Lizzy was under no such pressure, and confined herself to only what politeness demanded, no matter that she received no such consideration in return. She was more glad than ever she had refused Mr. Collins. She felt deeply for her friend in those moments, but was heartened that Charlotte truly was content when Lady Catherine was not present. She made a good parson's wife, willingly taking up mending for the people of the living, and making small parcels for the needy.

Lizzy thought she would have gone mad within a week in the same position, but she was happy that Charlotte did appear to be well settled, so long as Lady Catherine kept her distance. Rosings Park had extensive grounds, and Lizzy enjoyed walking out in the mornings. Things were kept perhaps too neat for her tastes, and the plants spoke to her of frequent prunings that were unnecessary, but the walking paths were very pretty.

She was on such a path now, enjoying the bright sunshine, when a sudden tremor of excitement ran up her limbs. She raised her head, looking around. A horse was running somewhere, not from fear or pain, but with the energy of a high-spirited, well maintained creature. She knew he had a rider, and was not alone.

She quested out, and her eyes turned expectantly toward the horse. A second later she heard hoof beats, and in the next instant a dark bay crested a low hill, galloping full out on the manicured lawns of Rosings Park. The rider sat expertly, urging his mount to greater speed without whip or spur--with magic like her own! It was not that which made her gasp though. A familiar presence washed over her, hidden until now by the horse's excitement, and Fitz ran alongside the horse, keeping up effortlessly.

She feared at first he was chasing the horse, that the beast was in great danger--the rider was barely a secondary concern to her--and began running toward them. Then she realized that the horse was far from panicked. Nor was Fitz in a hunting mode. If anything he felt playful: they were racing!

She felt the instant she caught Fitz's attention. He veered toward her without warning. She staggered to a halt, more stunned by his majesty than anything else. She had forgotten in the last months the air of power he exuded. She had never seen him in broad daylight before, and she was struck by his beauty. He moved smoothly, flowing over the ground and hardly touching it. He was bigger than she remembered, or he had grown over winter.

"No! Run girl!" the rider of the horse called out, wheeling his mount to chase the werewolf. The horse bore down on the wolf, but Fitz was impossibly fast, easily drawing away. The rider might have had skill with horses, but he had none with werewolves, or he would have known that Fitz meant her no harm. She had seconds to admire the wolf. His feral grace was something utterly inhuman. Even she, used as she was to wild creatures, had seen nothing like it before. He was a song, a hymn of praise to life itself, so startling beautiful as to almost bring tears to her eyes.

Fitz slowed himself half adozen paces from her so as to not bowl her over. She knelt instinctively to greet him on his level. She didn't have to duck at all from her kneeling position. She reached out her hand and grazed the tips of his whiskers gingerly, hardly able to believe he was before her. He dipped his head and pushed hard against her palm. She laughed in delight and scratched his ears, his tail wagging in response. How she had missed him!

The horse skidded to a halt and the rider flung himself from the saddle, drawing a sword. Fear instantly shot through Lizzy. Was he hunting Fitz? Could he possibly know that Fitz was a werewolf? She started to push herself up to stand between Fitz and the young man, but Fitz was faster. He whipped around, knocking her down as he stood over her and growled at the man. The man's face hardened and his grip on his sword tightened.

"No!" Lizzy shouted as he took a step forward, and Fitz tensed. "Just stop it!" She got a hand in Fitz's scruff and tugged sharply, pulling herself to her feet. Any other canine would have submitted to her, and the magic she poured out, but of course he was different. His immunity to her magic had not diminished. She tried to move in front of Fitz, but he kept shouldering her aside, remaining firmly between herself and the man.

She stopped and looked to the man instead. "Don't hurt him," she snarled fiercely. "He hasn't done anything wrong!"

The man's eyes widened, looking between her and the wolf. He met her gaze after a moment, and Lizzy recognized the knowledge there. He knew. He raised his hands in a placating gesture, and then sheathed his sword.

"My apologies," he offered. "I was not aware that you were familiar with my dog there." His voice was cautious, testing. Did she know as well?

"I've seen him before," she responded calmly. "He was a brief visitor to my area."

The man blinked in astonishment. "Then you must be the young woman my aunt has been terrorizing!" A grin spread across his face. She realized he was quite handsome, when he wasn't tense and holding a sword on her. She began to relax, only to be startled by a deep, sub-vocal growl from Fitz. She might not have noticed it, had his ribs not been pressed to her leg. She could feel his worry, but didn't know the cause of it. Automatically her hand smoothed his fur, trying to offer comfort.

"Your aunt?" she repeated blankly, more concerned over Fitz than with what the man was saying. It was strange for the young man to address her so familiarly when they had not been introduced, but she knew Fitz wouldn't allow anything untoward to happen.

"Lady Catherine de Bourgh," the man said with a sardonic smirk. "Forgive the impertinence, but let me introduce myself. I am Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam, the nephew of Lady Catherine. And you've already met my dog, who is another Fitzwilliam, of sorts."

She blinked at that. Another person bearing the uncommon Fitzwilliam name. She looked down at Fitz, who wagged his tail hopefully. Suddenly her enthusiasm for his presence diminished. How could she have forgotten, that he did not come by himself, but with the prickly Mr. Darcy? In a rush she remembered his hasty departure from Netherfield, her sister's subsequent disappointment, and Mr. Wickham's pale, jumpy illness. Mr. Darcy was responsible for all of it.

She moved away from Fitz slightly, regaining her decorum. "Miss Elizabeth Bennet," she acknowledged Col Fitzwilliam. Fitz whined and touched her hand with his nose. She sighed. It wasn't fair for her to take her anger at Mr. Darcy out on Fitz. Col Fitzwilliam's horse came behind him and rested his nose on his shoulder. She looked at him curiously, reading that he was wary, but not at all scared of the wolf at her side.

"Your horse isn't frightened by, um, your dog?" she blurted out.

Col Fitzwilliam looked at his horse with obvious fondness. "Cannon has been through battle with me," he said warmly. "It would take more than a little dog to frighten him."

She snorted at the thought of anyone calling Fitz little. "You have magic with horses? You were able to tell him that Fitz will not harm him?"

Col Fitzwilliam gave her an odd look, and she blushed. She realized she had not thought to ask if Fitz went by a different name. A moniker less similar to Mr. Darcy's would be not as obvious of a connection, and better to hide behind. Fitz too was growing worried again, and rested his head on her hip. She stroked his muzzle, noting that his wounds from Hertfordshire had healed without a trace.

"Yes," Col Fitzwilliam answered slowly. "Forgive me, but my magic? You can tell so soon?"

She blushed deeper. "Now it is you who must forgive me the impertinence," she murmured. "I also have a similar kind of magic, and I recognized yours at once."

Col Fitzwilliam's eyes fell to Fitz. "Your magic is withÉ dogs?" he put a subtle emphases on the last word.

"Something like that," she said softly, not looking at him. For some reason she felt suddenly shy of this handsome stranger, and afraid of showing him up. To her surprise Fitz snorted as if to comment, a very human sound.

"And it does not bother you, or your family?" Col Fitzwilliam asked. "Your magic? And you do not mind mine?"

"Why should I?" she asked in puzzlement. She was beginning to feel the strain of having a conversation with someone she knew nothing about, and took a step back, toward Hunsford.

Col Fitzwilliam shook his head. "Never mind, I am sorry. May I escort you to your destination? It is the least I might do, for coming upon you very suddenly."

"I thank you, but I am well," she insisted. "Only tell me why you should ask if I minded, or my family."

He hesitated. "It is only thatÉ I have met some who believe that animal magic is beneath our status, to the level of servants."

That sounded something Lady Catherine would say. Yet from the hurt look on his face, she was willing to bet that someone even closer to him than an aunt had professed such an opinion to him, and scorned him for his magic. She suddenly longed to comfort him, and took an unconscious step toward him. She was blocked by a very heavy wolf, who stood in her way and would not move. No matter, it was probably for the better.

"I do not believe that, nor anyone I have enjoyed speaking with," she declared firmly. Col Fitzwilliam looked up at her and flashed a smile. Very nice, she thought with approval, and then staggered as Fitz put too much weight against her.

"I am glad to make your acquaintance," she called to the Colonel as Fitz continued to pressure her away from him. "I shall take my leave now." She turned and walked confidently away. Fitz started to follow her, and then hesitated as Col Fitzwilliam called to him.

"Go on," she told him, pushing on his shoulder. He turned very reluctantly away from her, pausing to take frequent looks at her. She resolutely faced away from Fitz and the Colonel, and walked back to Hunsford. What a strange morning it had been!

The day only became stranger as it went on. In the afternoon, Charlotte asked Lizzy to take a look at her vegetable garden, and see why it wasn't doing as well as expected. Lizzy was happy to oblige, and quickly determined that the soil was too rocky for most of the plants' tastes. They were still in the garden, discussing the matter, when they had visitors. Col Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy walked in the gate, and Col Fitzwilliam was quick to greet them.

Both ladies were surprised to see the gentlemen, but Charlotte welcomed them graciously, and invited them to tea. Lizzy was happy to see Col Fitzwilliam again, but her pleasure was more than dulled by Mr. Darcy's silent, brooding presence. He barely said five words during the entire visit, while Col Fitzwilliam easily filled the silence. Neither the Colonel nor Lizzy alluded to their morning meeting, and for all appearances acted as though they had only just met.

At the end of the visit, Col Fitzwilliam invited them to Rosings for dinner, which Charlotte accepted happily. Charlotte maintained her composure throughout the visit, but after the gentleman had gone, she was nearly as excitable as Lydia was at the prospect of a redcoat. Lizzy smiled and did nothing to discourage her. She allowed that Col Fitzwilliam had been very pleasant, and confined herself to speaking not at all of Mr. Darcy. Abruptly, Charlotte sobered, and gave Lizzy a keen look.

"It must be your presence here that led them to come," she said matter-of-factly. Lizzy raised her eyebrows and just refrained from a snort.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, unable to hide the bite in her tone. The visit would have been much better if Col Fitzwilliam had come alone, or if Mr. Darcy had made the least effort to hide his disdain of everything within Hunsford. She had been trying not to hate Mr. Darcy for Fitz's sake, whom she could feel was drowsing contentedly during the visit, but his unpleasant manner was making it harder each time she met him.

"Lizzy, do you really think they would have come so soon for me, or for Mr. Collins?" Charlotte pointed out. Lizzy couldn't help but to think of the way Charlotte still referred to her husband formally as a sign that she lacked a certain domestic bliss. "They only arrived this morning, for goodness sakes! I am just a parson's wife, and Mr. Collins a mere parson. Two such prestigious gentlemen would not have come for us alone. Therefore, it must be you they came for."

This time Lizzy did snort. "That is not the case, I assure you. I have not met Col Fitzwilliam before today--"

"Precisely!" Charlotte nodded. "It must be Mr. Darcy then. Do you think he's in love with you?"

The bottom dropped out of Lizzy's stomach. She stared at her friend in shock. She would have laughed out loud had the idea not so thoroughly repulsed her. "Ugh, no!" she spat out heatedly. "If he reallyÉ loved me, and that's just gross, by the way, then he why won't he say more than a couple words at a time? Absolutely not!"

Far from being deterred, Charlotte turned thoughtful. "I think perhaps he's shy," she mused.

"Shy!" Lizzy burst out. "What does he have to be shy about? He's rich, he owns his own vast estate, his family is very old and prestigious, not to mention he's rather good lookingÉ" she trailed off, as she suddenly remembered a rather obvious reason for him to be shy: Fitz. If it were discovered that he was a werewolf, as had nearly happened at Netherfield, then he would lose everything, including his life.

Typically, Charlotte found the least relevant part of her sentence and pounced on it. "So you do admit he's handsome!" she announced gleefully.

Torn from her thoughts, Lizzy blinked at her. "What? No! Well, yes, but anyone with eyes can see that. It doesn't mean anything!"

"I honestly don't see what your problem is, Lizzy," Charlotte said plaintively. "I mean, he has money, his own house, just like you said. He can support you easily, even your entire family! It's more stability than you have now. I don't know why you wouldn't jump at the chance if he asked you to marry him."

"I'd rather die than marry a lout for stability!" Lizzy snapped, too late realizing who she was talking to. Charlotte paled, and her eyes went wide with hurt. Lizzy's mouth went dry. "Charlotte, wait, I didn't mean it like that," she began.

"Yes, you did," Charlotte cut her off. "You'd rather die than be me. Well, I don't think you'll have to worry about that, because Mr. Darcy does love you," she insisted spitefully. "He couldn't keep his eyes off you. Excuse me, I hear Mr. Collins returning." She left before Lizzy could speak another word.

Lizzy sat there for a long time, staring at her hands. She hadn't meant for the conversation to go so wrong. Charlotte hadn't done too badly for herself, all things considered, but it wasn't the kind of life she could ever be content with. And what was it with her insisting about Mr. Darcy? The idea was so disgusting it made her shudder. Yes, she had noticed him staring at her, both before in Hertfordshire, and today at tea. But that was because of Fitz taking interest in her, or because Mr. Darcy was glaring at whatever fault of hers had offended him. It was preposterous, to think that he could possibly be attracted to her. If he was, even the slightest bit, then she blamed Fitz. As much as she liked and admired the wolf, she was in no way drawn to him in that fashion. It was impossible.

And yetÉ she forced herself to consider if maybe Charlotte was right. What if Mr. Darcy did make an offer for her? She would refuse, of course. She could not live with a man who disdained and insulted her family at every turn, who obviously held no real regard or respect for her. But--she hated herself for thinking about it--he was very rich. She need not fear what would happen to her and her sisters if her father passed away. At the thought of her sisters, she suddenly recalled Jane's pale, drawn face, her quiet suffering, her listless letters. Her anger at Mr. Darcy flared anew. No, not even if he should offer tonight at dinner, in front of everyone, would she accept him. Besides, wasn't he engaged to his cousin Anne? That thought made her feel immensely better. Charlotte, hidden romantic or not, was clearly in the wrong.

When Mr. Collins found out about their invitation to dinner, he suddenly flew into a nervous frenzy. He scolded and nagged Lizzy on her appearance, like a mother hen. Actually, he was worse than a mother hen, she thought sullenly. At least she could understand the hen. Finally, when Lizzy could not be persuaded to change out of her perfectly serviceable dinner gown, he conceded, "Lady Catherine, in her great condescension, would not expect more from one of your status. It is not as though you have the resources she does, to maintain the current fashions, or have a gown that is becoming to her senses. She likes to preserve the distinction of rank."

Lizzy bit her tongue to hold back a sharp retort. The fight with Charlotte was still fresh on her mind. Charlotte would not look at her, or speak a word, and Lizzy felt her absence keenly. Instead she forced a sickly smile, determined to make the best of this evening and not drive her friend further away.

Mr. Collins of course wished to arrive at such an early hour as to be unspeakably rude, but Charlotte managed to distract him with a question long enough that they would just be acceptable. He was oblivious to the tension between the ladies, but Lizzy felt it like a great weight on her shoulders, and a cold spot where Charlotte was.

They were shown into the drawing room, garishly decorated with fabrics of yellow roses in every place possible--even the walls were papered with them. As usual, Mr. Collins made his way straight to where Lady Catherine sat in state with Anne beside her, half bowing and half cringing before them. Charlotte followed and also made her greetings, with less genuflection and more dignity. Lizzy scarcely noticed herself paying her own respects, far too aware that both Mr. Darcy and Col Fitzwilliam were watching her.

Mr. Collins remained near Lady Catherine. In the previous state of things, Charlotte would choose a seat that was near enough to Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine to appear subservient, but was far enough that Lizzy could sit by her without being in the immediate area. It hadn't saved her from coming under Lady Catherine's condemnation often, but she had been able to control her temper better when the insults were not shouted directly in her face. Lady Catherine had a habit of projecting her voice in such a way that the whole room could not help but to hear. Whether this was on purpose, or because she was tending toward deafness, Lizzy didn't know and didn't care. Yes, Longbourn was often loud, but it was always a gaggle of voices from her sisters, her mother, sometimes even her father, Mrs. Hill and the maid. It was never just one voice, droning on and on without cease.

This time, however, Charlotte chose a position very near Mr. Collins. She did not contribute much to the conversation--if it could be called such with one participant expounding her opinions at large, and the other agreeing to everything with alacrity--but she gave every sign of paying close attention.

Lizzy felt the slight harshly, and knew she had deserved it. She retreated to the corner of the room, trying to hide the pained blush on her cheeks. However, no sooner had she settled in a chair, than Col Fitzwilliam rose and approached. She was relieved when Mr. Darcy did not follow him. She could feel that Fitz was more lively than during tea. Should he look at her, she would see the wolf in Mr. Darcy's eyes. Thankfully he did not, but stood near a window and stared out resolutely.

"It is good to see you again," Col Fitzwilliam said, his eyes sparkling. "Your presence here has brightened what would have been otherwise a very dull evening."

She colored again, this time with pleasure. Col Fitzwilliam's eyes were a clear medium blue, not so dark as Mr. Darcy's, and without flecks of another color. They were very nice eyes, and right now they were turned toward her with glee.

"I thank you, I would not have wanted this evening to be so very dull for you," she replied impertinently. "I am at your service."

His eyebrows rose, and he smiled. "Very well then, since you have taken it upon yourself to be my entertainment, I shall introduce a topic of conversation, and you must speak of it as best you are able. I am given to understand that you have some small talent of magic. What say you about that?"

Lizzy read at once that he wanted to continue their conversation from that morning. It was incredible that he had thought about it so long, and even contrived to bring it to the fore at once. "I do have some magic," she acknowledged with a small smile. "But as you said, it is a small talent, amusing to myself and my family but little else." She didn't know why she was downplaying her magic, except that she wanted Col Fitzwilliam to think well of her. She didn't want to belittle his own gift, which was so similar to hers. She wasn't precisely deceiving him; she had only been taught by her father, not by any formal master. No one had ever judged her strength, and declared her either remarkable or mediocre.

The sound of a harsh snort made her jerk in surprise. She had been so caught up in Col Fitzwilliam that she had failed to notice Mr. Darcy drifting toward them. "Miss Elizabeth is falsely modest," he announced to his cousin severely. "Should she apply for it, she is beyond qualified to be a full mage. As well as canidae, her magic also extends to all manner of plants and animals. Indeed, I have personally seen her deal with more than a dozen diverse species, and had the same effect on all of them. From what I have seen, she is by far the strongest of her family in the magical sense."

Sudden anger flushed her. Mr. Darcy's words should have complimented her, but he spoke them with a cool detachment, as though discussing an investment in peas, a topic that interested no one. He might have said she was as strong as a mage, but his tone was such that made it no accomplishment. That he spoke of her personally was bad enough, but his judgment on his family made her bristle.

"And I suppose you have seen all that my family has to offer in that fashion?" she retorted hotly, barely keeping her voice low enough to not attract attention from the other end of the room.

Mr. Darcy gave her a frank, astonished looked, as though a dog had suddenly learned to speak. "I believe I did see them, yes. I recall on one occasion in particular your sisters were keen to reveal their abilities to Charles. I saw no great talent among them at that time. Your mother possesses no magic at all."

"And you were never sick, or distracted, while in Hertfordshire?" she asked pointedly. "You are so confident to make a judgment on people you scarcely spent any time with at all, and the little time you did take in their presence was only under the greatest duress?"

"Oh?" Col Fitzwilliam cut into the conversation. "Tell me, did my cousin show himself to disadvantage in Hertfordshire? What is he like among strangers?"

Lizzy tore her eyes from Mr. Darcy, giving Col Fitzwilliam an anxious look. She feared her magic was showing him up, and she didn't know any person who liked that. However, he just watched alertly, as if amused by the heated exchange between herself and Mr. Darcy.

"I am afraid he did not acquit himself well at all," she told Col Fitzwilliam. "I do not think he spoke above three dozen words in Hertfordshire to anyone outside his party. He sat out every single dance that was not necessary, and in general appeared as though he were having his teeth pulled just to be in company."

"I agree that I have never been so ill in my life as my time in Hertfordshire," Mr. Darcy said, "However I assure you that my senses were not so affected as to miss the presence of magic in your family." He paused, and then inclined his head. "I understand your father to be a weather mage of some strength," he acknowledged.

Lizzy saw red for a moment. "My father is the strongest storm mage in all of England!" she snapped. "He is one of the strongest in all of Europe!"

Mr. Darcy blinked at her sudden vehemence, and Col Fitzwilliam looked intrigued. "Truly?" he spoke. "What is his name? Surely he is well known among certain circles?"

She faltered, and winced. "Mr. Thomas Bennet is his name, and I understand he speaks regularly with other storm mages, but he prefers a quiet existence, where he may study the weather in peace," she said, well aware that her father did not act like the powerful storm mage he was. Mrs. Bennet had often chided him on it, saying if he had only enforced his power a little more at school, he would have had prestige, money, and a more comfortable house than Longbourn. Frankly, until this moment Lizzy had been proud that her papa had chosen a quiet life, more in keeping with his principles, than sacrifice himself for wealth and power. Now, faced with the expectant Col Fitzwilliam and especially the dour Mr. Darcy, she wondered if Mr. Bennet hadn't selfishly squandered his talents in his own indulgence.

Mr. Darcy said nothing, but Col Fitzwilliam said with an understanding smile, "Nothing wrong with wanting peace! Why, I could use some peace when I'm deployed on the field."

Somehow that made it worse, and she couldn't face either of them.

Lady Catherine chose that moment to interrupt, saving Lizzy from a reply.

"What is being said over there?" Lady Catherine demanded querulously. "I demand to know what is going on. It is very rude to be so secretive in the middle of company. I declare, I hate rudeness."

Lizzy bit her lip against a sudden, sharp reply. Both men looked at her, Mr. Darcy with a frown, and Col Fitzwilliam with a wry smile. As Mr. Darcy did not seem inclined to answer, Col Fitzwilliam took it upon himself to speak. "We were speaking only of magic, Aunt."

Lady Catherine's eyes lit with something like avarice. "So I see. That is a topic worthier of some than others. Why, my late husband was an excellent mage himself. I have some talent of my own, but it has hardly had time to flourish with all my responsibilities to Rosings Park. Anne is of course a very strong mage, it is only her health that holds her back from being fully qualified. I absolutely cannot stand those who think all talents are equal. Of course they are not! It necessitates that those who work with animals and cloth are beneath those who can work with higher elemental powers. They are mere servants and peasants. The highest of the magical order are those whose spell work is limited only by imagination." She sniffed, her lips twisted in a cruel smile as she managed to dismiss both her lesser nephew and guest.

Beside Lizzy, Col Fitzwilliam stiffened and his expression turned blank. She found herself admiring his sensitivity, and his control to not answer back insult for insult.

"Darcy," Lady Catherine's voice was perilously close to a whine, "Leave your cousin Fitzwilliam to himself. He can manage without you. Anne is pining for you. Be a good lad and keep her company. She is much better suited when you are near."

Lizzy looked at the limp, pallid girl next to Lady Catherine, and tried to imagine her as a strong mage, or strong anything. She just could not do it. Mr. Darcy retreated, though not to Anne's side. He resumed his post near the window, staring out the window with his shoulders tense. Or perhaps that was just Fitz's tension she was sensing. The wolf was agitated. Mr. Darcy might be all politeness, but his wolf was just as fed up with Lady Catherine as Lizzy was. It was strange, to think she had a silent ally in the room, hidden from everyone else. Impulsively she reached for him with her magic, stroking him for both comfort and reassurance. She had the very great pleasure of seeing Mr. Darcy jump slightly. She hid her smile.

Chapter Sixteen

Lady Catherine went on about magic and other things of which she obviously knew little. Lizzy found herself wishing all the roses in the room were real. Then she could weave a gag of them, and silence the old crone. She contented herself with speaking to Col Fitzwilliam softly. They spoke on nothing serious, just small talk to pass the time. With each moment she found him to be intelligent and caring, nothing like his dark cousin. Mr. Darcy was very intelligent, there was no doubt, but it was paired with such a disapproving mind that little headway could be made with him.

Dinner was announced shortly. Lizzy would not have dreamed of imposing on anyone, but she had expected the Colonel to offer to escort her into dinner by proximity alone. And yet, when she stood, she found not the Colonel's arm held out to her, but Mr. Darcy's. Had she been bolder, she would have refused outright. She couldn't quite manage it though, not without holding up the entire dinner party, and she was unwilling to do so. Just within her field of vision, she saw Charlotte giving her a knowing look. She couldn't help the heat that spread up her cheeks, and hoped no one else noticed.

She took Mr. Darcy's arm, placing just her fingers on his sleeve. She tried to keep the contact to a minimum. Teasingly, she brushed Fitz with her magic again. Only she heard Mr. Darcy's sudden intake of breath, and only she felt the wolf's delight. She found she quite enjoyed discomfiting Mr. Darcy in that way. He couldn't react to her without causing a scene, something she knew he would loathe. It was best not to push him too far, though. She was already familiar with his uncertain temper, and if he should become angry in company, there was no telling what he would do.

She would be judicious with her new power over him, but it was still a relief from the tedious meal. The food was good, but sadly unremarkable no matter what Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine claimed. Lady Catherine continued to hold forth on everything which caught her attention. The only other words heard from that end of the table were the breathless agreements and praises from Mr. Collins. Lizzy wasn't sure how much of the food he actually ate. From his constant talk, it couldn't have been much.

Only the presence of Col Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy broke up the monotony of the company. Col Fitzwilliam was quick with words, and had many jovial stories to share. Mr. Darcy, on the other hand, was even more silent than he had been at Hertfordshire. Even his Aunt's consistent prodding and demands could only rouse two words at most from him. Lizzy ignored him as best she could, but it was impossible to ignore Fitz. Lady Catherine, of course, as was common among the gentry, used fine silver utensils.

The wolf constantly snarled and flinched away from the silver. Mr. Darcy remained as sparse of movement as he had been before. She tried to comfort and soothe his wolf as much as possible, but without touching him there was only so much she could manage. Col Fitzwilliam noticed her strain, and attempted to distract her without knowing the cause. Somehow that made it worse, because his attention made Fitz focus sharply on her, instead of bracing himself against the silver.

It was a relief when dinner was over. They retired to the drawing room. Lizzy would have been content to be quiet and recover from the ordeal of dinner for a while, but it was not to be. Lady Catherine called on her to entertain them, and play the pianoforte in the room. She tried to decline, but Lady Catherine would not hear of it. Somehow Lizzy found herself seated at the piano, and the center of attention of the whole room. Both Col Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy turned to her with alacrity.

Col Fitzwilliam beat out Mr. Darcy as her page turner by being much nearer. Fitz's attention focused on Col Fitzwilliam, and it was not complimentary. Really, the wolf was proving to be more possessive of her than was comfortable. If he were less civilized, she would have worried about Mr. Darcy coming to blows with Col Fitzwilliam. As it was she reached for him with her magic, redirecting his attention toward her. At least she was certain that he would not hurt her, little though she liked encouraging him. She would have to be careful around Mr. Darcy and Fitz. She knew Mr. Darcy would gladly have as little to do with her as possible, and she would use that to her advantage to put off Fitz.

She played for a few minutes without incident. She was not a great player, preferring most days to spend her time outside than at the piano, but by going slow and paying careful attention to the page, she was able to manage decently. Lady Catherine was of course complaining about her playing. She blocked out the meaningless noise, and absently noted that neither of the gentlemen near her paid attention to Lady Catherine either.

All was going well, and she was drawing near the end of her piece. She was looking forward to ending it and retreating to some place quieter. Col Fitzwilliam turned the final page for her, and her fingers surged with her hurry to be done. The Colonel's arm brushed hers as he lowered his hand, an entirely innocent gesture.

Mr. Darcy growled.

It didn't carry over the sound of the piano; she might have thought it was only through her magic that she heard, save that Col Fitzwilliam also jumped slightly. Her finger crashed down on the keys in a sudden jar of noise. "That's enough!" she snapped, her magic metaphorically twisting Fitz's ear. She glared at him, Mr. Darcy's eyes growing wide at her challenge.

"IsÉ everything alright?" Col Fitzwilliam whispered, looking between the two as he realized something more than he could sense was happening. Lizzy arched an eyebrow at the werewolf, daring him to answer. She would not back down so long as there might be danger to anyone in the room. She didn't know what had gotten into Fitz, but it was time for it to end. Finally Mr. Darcy rocked back on his heels.

His closed his eyes, visibly gathering himself. When he opened his eyes again, he gave her a polite nod. "My apologies, Miss Elizabeth," he said in a low voice, and then retreated to his usual post by the window. Col Fitzwilliam's own eyebrows were raised as he watched his cousin. Lady Catherine was of course demanding to know what had happened, but for once she was not the most commanding person in the room. The werewolf gave off an air of power that belonged as much to the man as the creature under his skin. The Colonel glanced at Lizzy.

"Do you think I should talk with him?" he asked with a studied casualness.

"No, I do not think that would help," she responded. What would help was distancing herself from both Fitz and the Colonel. She rose from the piano, gave the barest of apologies to Lady Catherine, and secluded herself in a corner of the room to be alone. Lady Catherine of course treated everyone to a lecture on rudeness and showing the appropriate respect to those of superior station. Mr. Collins looked as though he was taking notes for his next sermon.

They left not long after. Mr. Collins took up Lady Catherine's diatribe against her, declaring that he was ashamed to have her as a cousin, demanding she apologize, and threatening to disown her. She had a rather intense headache by that point, and was in no mood to hear more vitriol. Could a cousin even disown another cousin? It wasn't until both Charlotte and Mr. Collins stared at her that she realized she had spoken out loud. Usually Charlotte would step in at this point and direct Mr. Collins' poison away from Lizzy, but no help was forthcoming. She was on her own.

Mr. Collins spluttered and snarled about ungratefulness, rudeness, not recognizing greatness when it was before herÉ She bit the inside of her cheek to avoid being kicked out of the house. She bowed her head meekly, and eventually Mr. Collins was satisfied that she was sufficiently cowed. Only then was she allowed to escape to her room.

She dressed for bed gratefully, and immediately curled under the covers. Her throbbing headache persisted for a time, but slowly began to diminish as the house grew quieter. She was just at the point where she was starting to doze, when a familiar presence washed over her senses. She groaned and drew the blankets over her head. Not now. But she rose anyway, drawn like a moth to fire.

She was not as familiar with Hunsford as she was with Longbourn, and had to take extra care not to bump anything and rouse Charlotte and Mr. Collins. She found the door in the dark, and pushed it open. As expected, Fitz was waiting for her. In Hertfordshire, he had always had to be coaxed out of the shadows, but here he strode forward boldly. His tail wagged, not rapidly, but with a slow magnificence.

She shut the door quickly and leaned against it. She crossed her arms over her chest, frowning at the wolf. "You behaved very badly tonight," she hissed at him angrily. His head and tail drooped. She tried to remain stern, but it was a losing battle. She sighed, and crouched down. "I suppose it wasn't entirely your fault," she conceded. After all, Mr. Darcy had been controlling most of their actions. He was the one she would happily abuse. She petted Fitz's head and back, automatically taking stock of his health and physical condition.

He hadn't grown, as she had first thought that morning. Rather, it was that he was more robust than he had ever been in Hertfordshire. He'd had a winter of good feeding and exercise, and if she could hazard a guess, no contact with silver. The traces of the poisonous metal in him were very faint, and very recent. Perhaps dinner tonight at Rosings Park had been the first time he had been forced to use silver utensils since Netherfield.

He was stronger than ever. His long, wavy fur was soft and shiny with health. He was fairly bursting with vigor, and more, his mind felt more sophisticated than any animal she had ever met. If she had to guess, his mind was very close to how a human's would feel, while still maintaining the effortless non-verbal communication of her animal kind. That made her frown. If that was so, then Fitz knew very well he shouldn't be here! The risk of discovery for himself, and the inappropriateness of her wandering outside at night should have occurred to him. It was something Mr. Darcy certainly would have thought of, and she rather thought the communication between the two had only improved over the winter.

"You shouldn't be here," she warned him. He ducked his head and whined. She might have forgiven him if he were actually apologizing. But his tail kept wagging gently, and she felt his triumph, as if he was pointing out that he might have come where he wasn't supposed to, but that she had joined him of her own will.

"I'm going inside now," she announced with narrowed eyes. "Go back to Rosings Park. You shouldn't risk being seen."

She rose, then entered the house and shut the door behind her. She waited, but Fitz didn't move while she lingered at the door. Only when she resolutely headed toward her bedroom did she feel him sigh, and reluctantly move away. She shook her head as she pulled the blankets over her again. The bed had not had time to lose all its warmth, and she was grateful. She was happy to see Fitz again, especially to see him in such good spirits and health, but Mr. Darcy was another matter altogether. She didn't want to be a distraction to the wolf either. If he was constantly visiting her, someone was going to notice. It was a risk he couldn't afford to take. Now how to convince him of that? She was still pondering the question when she finally slid into sleep.

Richard lined up the cue stick on the white ball. Darcy strode briskly from one end of the billiards room to the other. Richard looked past the white ball, calculating angles and forces in his mind. Darcy came to an abrupt halt right before he would have hit the wall, spun on his heel, and walked quickly the other way. Richard took a deep breath in, braced his arms, and made his shot. Darcy reached the other end of the room just as fast, pivoted with an almost military sharpness, and practically ran back the way he had just come. The end of the cue stick hit the white ball with a satisfying crack, and the white ball hit the solid behind it, which angled off and tapped a striped. Darcy continued his determined course to wear a groove in Aunt Catherine's carpets. Richard squinted at the table, and began planning his next shot.

"Cannon did pretty well with you yesterday," he commented absently, as though it were of no importance. Darcy did not answer, though he could not have possibly missed hearing him. "I doubt he'd ever let you mount, but it's a step in the right direction. Cannon doesn't let anyone but me to ride him." He glanced at his cousin. Hard, long strides, abrupt turn. No reaction.

"There's a horse fair in a couple weeks. I was thinking of looking for something for you there. Maybe something gypsy bred. They know their horses, the gypsies. And some of them keep large dogs around camp. Any horse that is going to carry you will have to be closer to warhorse, I'm afraid. I don't think I could get the usual high-strung palfreys near you. But something with a bit of weight to it will be better."

Still nothing. He lined up another shot on the table and took it. He pocketed a ball with ease, enjoying the way the balls all ended up where he predicted. "You know who else would like a warhorse?" he asked quickly, wondering how dangerous the field was about to get. "Georgiana. Something real big and flashy. She'd have to sit astride, of course, I doubt that would be a problem."

Darcy came to a sudden halt, one foot still hovering off the ground. Instead of looking foolish, he looked like a hound that had just come to point. "What did you say?" Darcy said, his voice low and dangerous. Richard turned to face him, casually holding the cue stick across his body. "Warhorse. For Georgiana. Sitting astride. Probably skirts hiked above her ankles--"

A fine shudder wracked Darcy. "No," he whispered, the single word suffused with menace. Richard let the subject drop, and Darcy resumed his pacing. Richard waited until Darcy was just passing him, and said, "I think I'll take that Elizabeth Bennet to the horse fair with me. I'll bet she's a fair judge of flesh." He left his words deliberately ambiguous, and was rewarded with the biggest reaction yet.

Darcy whirled on him, growling as he had the night before after dinner. "No," he snarled again, shoving against Richard. Richard got the cue stick up in time to deflect much of the blow. Damn, but his cousin was strong now. Strong, but not versed in hand to hand combat as Richard was. He avoided being trapped, stepping aside just enough to open space for himself. Darcy's eyes burned at him, challenge and fury all in one. Not even Georgiana had gotten the reaction Miss Elizabeth had. His dull cousin was rather delightfully smitten with her. About ruddy time.

Darcy breathed harshly through his nose, his body quivering with tension.

"Easy, now," Richard said, slowly holding up his hands. "She's nice enough, but I don't want to start anything here."

Darcy struck with inhuman speed, fist colliding with Richard's shoulder and knocking him back several paces. Had Richard not gone with the force of the blow, it would have easily shoved him to the ground. "Not for you," Darcy growled in vicious warning.

"No, not me," Richard agreed easily, as though a bruise wasn't already forming under his clothes. "But for you, I think."

Darcy looked away, jaw clenched, fists tight as his side. Richard barked out a sudden laugh. "My God, it's nothing to be ashamed of! It's about time you took interest in something beyond your nose."

Darcy growled again, a rumbling sound that did not belong in a human chest. "Complicated," he muttered harshly.

Richard's eyebrows rose. "Complicated? Then uncomplicate it! What is your problem? It's not like you have to hide from her. She already knows what you are. I dare say she doesn't even mind it, in either of your forms. What more could you ask for?"

Darcy still wouldn't look at him. Richard squinted at him, wondering what was wrong. Darcy's behavior yesterday morning completely contrasted with his actions last night at dinner. The only difference Richard could see wasÉ He snorted. "Don't tell me, the great Fitzwilliam Darcy has to get furry to talk to a lady!"

Darcy moved, unbelievably fast, seizing Richard's arms and hurling him across the room. Richard tried to land well, but several chairs broke his fall, and nearly his ribs. He sprawled on the floor among the chairs, struggling to get air in his lungs. Damn, baiting his cousin wasn't as harmless as it used to be. Darcy advanced on him, hands still clenched in fists. Richard held up his hands quickly. "Pax, brother," he said, tilting his head to the side.

Darcy rocked back on his heels, clearly struggling with what he was. Their birthdays were exactly one year and one month apart, Richard being the elder. As boys they had been very close, more like brothers than cousins. Richard's older brother was six years different from him, and more distant than the young boys had been. Richard knew he had shocked his cousin by still calling him brother, after what he had become.

He rose to his knees gingerly, feeling his sides for injury. After a moment Darcy came forward and offered a hand. Richard grasped his wrist firmly, and let himself be pulled to his feet. He did not let go, but held on fiercely. It had killed him to see the broken shell Darcy had become last summer, after his attack. As co-guardian of Georgiana, he had been at a loss to help either sibling. Something had changed. Darcy was so much stronger, not just physically, but his emotional and mental state had also begun to heal. He rejoiced in the change, but at the same time he knew Darcy was still trying to find his footing among his old family and friends.

"Please listen to me," he said quietly, speaking urgently. "I can't think that there's half a dozen people outside your own household that knows everything about you. But Miss Elizabeth Bennet--" he was careful to give the honorific to appease Darcy, "--already knows. And she doesn't run away when she sees you. When I pulled a sword on you yesterday, she was trying to protect you. My God, that was beautiful to see her act, without hesitation. If she truly is as strong as you said she is, she is a perfect match for you. That's one fine filly. Sorry," he added as Darcy let out a soft growl. "She's a fine lady. Whatever is complicated, if you respect her, if you care for her, I suggest you uncomplicate it. Can you imagine any other woman of your acquaintance who would dare stand next to your wolf and not flinch?" Sudden inspiration struck him, and he said, "It was like that from the beginning, wasn't it? The very first time she saw you all furry, she didn't even hesitate, did she?"

Darcy looked away silently. It was all the confirmation he needed. He felt a strong surge of anger. If he hadn't been sure it would end in disaster, he would have hit his cousin. The man could be so stupid--here was this beautiful, available young lady, every bit a gentleman's daughter, one who was just perfect for his cousin, and he was dithering over some detail. Darcy had no idea what it was like, to have the freedom to marry whom and when he will. Even himself, the second son of an earl, did not have that freedom. And Darcy was wasting it.

He let go of Darcy's hand at last. He had said all he could. Frankly, it amazed him that Miss Elizabeth had remained unattached for as long as she had. If his cousin wasn't so obviously smitten with herÉ But that was water under the bridge. He looked back at the billiards table, but found his appetite for the game had waned. He left the room without a further word. Maybe a ride would clear his mind.

Uncomplicate things! Darcy snorted. As if that was so easy. No amount of uncomplicating could change her family, or her lack of connections. Not to mention the way her sister had treated his friend. He had seen Charles saddened before, but never to this extent. The man was truly heartbroken. If he had known that Charles had been fully in love, he would have kept his mouth shut. Now every time Charles saw him, he felt the fool for having been warned and not listened.

Uncomplicate thingsÉ What if it really was that easy? Wasn't that the reason he was crouched behind Aunt Catherine's over-manicured hedge, trembling with eagerness for Elizabeth to come down the path? He had connections for both of them. What did he really care for society anyway? He had few very close friends, and all of those were also welcome at Pemberley at any time. As for other acquaintances that he wished to keep up, but not necessarily have stay with the family, he could visit them. As for Charles and Miss BennetÉ He would just have to make sure they did not cross paths. Elizabeth would have to visit her family at Longbourn if she wished to see her sister, or clear it with him before any were invited to Pemberley. It would be easy to keep Charles from fresh pain that way.

Down the path, his ears picked up the sound of footsteps, and the breeze quickly brought Elizabeth's delicious scent to him, like rain and wildflowers, the very essence of spring. A tremor ran through him, and he sank to the ground, trying to quiet his thoughts. He had discovered while working with Alain, that while they shared a connection, especially when they were both in wolf form, it was possible to hide from each other. At first it had been a kind of game, stalking each other like a particularly rough form of hide and seek, but he wanted to see if it would work on Elizabeth.

There she was! Her face was radiant from her walk. A small smile curved her lips, and her eyes sparkled with life and mischief. Oh to have her look at him that way! His heart stopped beating for a moment, his breath sticking in his lungs. Suddenly things didn't seem very complicated at all. She came closer, walking for the pleasure of it. He drew the veil of hiding over his thoughts, the way he did when he wished to hide from Alain.

She seemed unaware of him; she'd always detected his presence long before now. Maybe it was working! She was so close now. In another few steps she would be close enough for him to reach out and touch her dress with his paw. He couldn't wait any longer. His paws shoved hard on the ground, his claws tearing at the grass. He sprang out into the path with a deep bark. She jumped perhaps a foot in the air, her eyes going wide. A sudden shooting tendril of hedge whipped down on his back, but failed to find purchase on his fur.

Elizabeth came down hard, falling onto her backside. For a moment he thought he'd gone too far. What if she'd injured herself? He could smell her startled fear, and it made him uneasy. And then she recognized him. Her gasp of fright turned into a roar of laughter. "Fitz, you naughty boy!"

His tail waved proudly over his back, and he grinned at her. He moved closer to her, dipping his nose to make sure she was alright. She was. Her laughter faded away, and she regarded him thoughtfully. "You could help me up, you know," she said primly, though her eyes still danced with mirth. She held her hand out to him, and he pushed his back under it. He knew she didn't need his support as she pulled herself to her knees, but her touch was a blessing to him. She patted his shoulder, and then her fingers found that spot behind his ears that no one else could ever reach.

He stifled a groan, stretching his head to give her better access. Part of him cringed at the way she could make him melt so thoroughly, but part of him didn't care. Wasn't that a sign that they belonged together, that she knew him so well? No one else ever triggered the rush of emotion and sensation that she did. Life had gotten much better since he had made up with Georgiana. Since Alain had become his ward, he'd had a sense of purpose like nothing else before. But something had been missing, until this moment. He wasn't fulfilled until he stood next to Elizabeth again, her magic playing over him, her fingers ruffling his fur, her scent and laughter and warmth surrounding him. She was it. She was the one for him. There was no doubt on that score. Really the only thing left were those pesky complications that faded to insignificance when she was near him.

Her caress slowed and stopped, though she didn't remove her hand. "I'm not quite sure you deserve this," she mused tartly. "Scaring me like that. How did you manage to hide from me? You've never done that before."

His eyes had drifted shut in pleasure. Now he opened them, meeting her gaze just inches away. His heart thundered in her chest, so loud he wondered that she did not hear it. Should anyone else have looked at him that way, it would have been a challenge he would not have tolerated. But of course she was different. He could drown in her eyes, he thought. If he had been human at that moment he would have kissed her, and then proposed to her. Nothing could keep them apart. For the first time he began to understand when Charles had called Miss Bennet an angel. For wasn't Elizabeth an angel of salvation to him?

Except her brows were drawn together, and she frowned at him. He moved his tail hesitantly, hoping to reassure her. "What are you doing here?" she asked of him. It was on the tip of his tongue to answer her, but he held back for some reason. He and Alain had developed a rudimentary communication as wolves, but he wasn't sure it would work with Elizabeth. "You shouldn't be out here." She rose to her feet, crossing her arms over his chest. "You could be discovered, and then what would happen?"

There it was, that concern for him that warmed his heart. He didn't like the way she was trying to draw away from him though. He leaned on her legs, forcing her to grab his scruff to keep her balance. "Stop it!" she snapped, pushing ineffectually at him. "Go away!"

He cocked his head at her. Her worry was touching, but also needless. He had things well under control. He grinned at her, and then crouched his front end, hind still in the air. Her mouth dropped open in shock. "You've got to be kidding me," she muttered. No, he was not joking. He sprang up and darted around her playfully, trying to get her to join in. She held her ground, knowing he wouldn't actually bowl her over.

Her mood only seemed to sour further. With a whine, he sat in front of her, watching her face. He sat up in a begging fashion, one paw extended toward her. His head was easily the level of her chest. If he stood fully on hind legs, he would be much taller than her. And it never occurred to her to be frightened of him. He loved that about her. She kept frowning sternly, and then sighed. "Alright, you big softy," she said, she took his paw, and then wonder of wonders leaned down and planted a chaste kiss on the tip of his nose.

He blinked stupidly at her, unable to think past her scent and touch. Her face pinked, becoming all the prettier for it. So shy she was! He would inform her that she would have no reason to be shy once they were engaged. It was just a matter of asking for her. "Now go away," she said firmly, pushing on his chest. He overbalanced and had to twist to land on his paws. He gave her an astonished look. She really wanted him to go?

"Don't look at me like that," she demanded. "You know you shouldn't be here. It's not safe for you. I don't know what I would do if something happened to you, so get out of here."

Yes, that was what he was waiting for. That reassurance that she cared for him, was thinking only of his safety. She was so worried about him it was cute. He would go, but only because she asked him to. He knew it was safer to visit her on two feet, but somehow it was easier when he came on four. He didn't feel so tongue-twisted as a wolf, never mind that he couldn't actually speak as a wolf. Besides, if he saw her as often as he wanted, only as a human, it would cause gossips to murmur. This way, he could visit her twice as often, and no one the wiser. She would understand, in time.

He dipped his muzzle in farewell, and then turned and trotted down the path, toward the alcove where he had hidden his clothes. All and all he would call this a very profitable morning! He also thought it fortunate when he came upon her two mornings hence, on the same path.

"Good morning, Miss Elizabeth," he said, attempting to smile despite the nervous clamor of his heart. He did not have Richard's easy way, where his cousin could smile at the drop of a hat. At least this time he was on two legs--though he would not admit it, he had been slowly pacing this path for some time, waiting for her.

Elizabeth seemed taken aback by his presence. "Good morning, Mr. Darcy," she replied formally.

"I see we are traveling the same path," he forced out, as though he had not had to practice the words. All wit seemed to leave him the instant he saw her, and he could not blame his wolf for it this time. It was not so bad once they happened upon a topic he liked, such as reading, but until then he found himself continually grasping for words. "Might I escort you?" he offered his arm to her.

She hesitated. His wolf gave him a sudden boost of boldness, so that he was able to reach out and place her hand on his arm. He heard the startled catch of her breath, and hid his smile. Touch had not been so important to him before, but his wolf loved touching, things, people, anything around him. He had become more affectionate with Georgiana, and even Alain needed tactile reassurance as both wolf and boy. He was discovering that around certain people, touch was definitely an advantage.

They began walking. Darcy's chest swelled with pride. Here he was, walking with a beautiful woman on his arm. They were far from the schemers and gossip mongers of society. He was free to relax and be more himself here. He knew Elizabeth enjoyed walking. He couldn't wait to show her the paths at Pemberley, certain she would love them as much as he did. He would have to take her walking there often.

They said nothing for several minutes. Elizabeth too seemed taken by a fit of shyness. Certainly she was not so reticent when he was a wolf. He could scarcely feel her hand on his arm. He longed to reach around and cover it with his other hand, but decided against it. He didn't wish to be too bold. He could save that for when they were engaged. At length, she drew a breath, and commented, "I did not know you were such a very active walker, Mr. Darcy."

Active? Their sedate pace was not exactly what he would call active. He had shortened his long stride for her sake, and now they ambled slowly. But he would amuse her, for her sake. "I find that I am oftener outside than I have been in the past," he replied. He glanced at her, and added, "I have more incentive now."

She dared a brief look in his eyes and looked away. He too was feeling quite overcome by the moment. "This is my favorite path I have found," she said clearly, "I often walk here in the mornings."

His heart swelled. She was telling him where they could meet discreetly. Was it too soon to declare himself? No, he would court her for a time more, so as to avoid making a scandal. It was unfortunate that he was often under Aunt Catherine's nose, but it could not be avoided. Instead he nodded. Of course he knew that. She didn't have to tell him, when her scent lingered here, and the grass and hedges were already growing a little wilder. Everything grew when she was around. Even him.

"I have not had much time to acquaint myself with the walking paths of Rosings Park," he said. Yes, he thought silently, I will meet you here, as often as I can. "Pemberley has many great paths running through it," he couldn't help but to add. He felt her interest immediately. It was in the way she looked at him, the curious tilt of her head, her hand pressing a little stronger on his arm.

"And are you acquainted with those?" she asked, beginning to lose her stiff shyness.

"I should be. I grew up there," he smiled fondly at the memories. Without prompting he began to tell her of some of the paths of Pemberley. There were too many to tell all at once, and he did not tell her his favorites--he wished to discover those with her, to see her delight as she took in his home. Instead he spoke of the long track that ran over most of the perimeter of his lands. It was the tour path open to visitors, though few ever completed the full journey. It was a very long trail indeed. He had found a subject about which he was comfortable, and both of them relaxed while he spoke. She asked questions on occasion, sometimes in her sharp, teasing tone that so enthralled him. From anyone else they would have been near insults, but from her they could never be.