Posted on: 2013-05-27

Chapter Seventeen

They spoke through the natural end of their path, turning about and returning the same way they had come. It wasn't until the gates of Hunsford came into view that a natural lull in their conversation occurred. Elizabeth looked up, and started when she saw the gates and the shortness of their shadow.

"Forgive me, Mr. Darcy, I have detained you far too long," she said, taking back her arm and starting toward the cottage at a fast pace. "I fear Charlotte and Mr. Collins have been waiting on me, and will think I have gotten lost." She bit her lip, a faint troubled expression crossing her face. She was lying. He sensed the sadness in her, and guessed that all was not well with her visit. He felt a sudden anger against the Collins', that they could treat her precious person so poorly.

"Wait, Miss Elizabeth," he called, and lengthened his stride to catch up to her. He was surprised by how many steps he had to take to reach her. She could be fleet when she wished to. He took her hand and pressed it between both of his. She started in surprise, suddenly breathless. He looked deep into her eyes, and words failed him. It wasn't until she began fidgeting with impatience, trying to pull her hand away, that his wolf gave him a swift kick to make him speak.

"Mr. Darcy, I really must go--"

"Miss Elizabeth," he repeated her name helplessly. "Would it be acceptable ifÉ I called at the cottage later today? Perhaps for tea?" Sudden terror gripped him. He felt hollow inside, his knees trembling. What if she said no? What would Richard have said? Maybe he should take his cousin to distract the Collins', and thus earn an audience with just Elizabeth. Richard owed him after many years of distracting Aunt Catherine.

"Yes, if you must," she said shortly, and forcibly pulled herself away. He watched her go longer than was seemly, but he couldn't help it. She was too lovely to look at. As he finally turned away from Hunsford, he thought eagerly of tea today. He had obtained her permission to call again. He had wanted to ask to call on her, but had lost his nerve at the last moment. But no matter. Surely she understood that it was only her he wanted to see?

He almost whistled as he walked away. Him! Fitzwilliam Darcy, master of Pemberley, whistling! Elizabeth must be a miracle worker to have wrought such a change in him. If Richard could see him now, he'd laugh himself sick.

Lizzy forced herself to keep smiling until the gentlemen were out the door. And then she struggled to shut the door softly instead of slamming it. Charlotte had a vaguely smug expression on her face, and was no help at all. She still kept insisting that Mr. Darcy was in love with her. In love! With her! It wasn't that she thought herself unlovable, to the contrary. It was actually the idea of dour Mr. Darcy unbending enough to fall in love with someone. And that that someone be herself was even more laughable.

And yetÉ Hadn't he made it a point to meet her on the walk this morning? Seeing him as Fitz was one thing. She was always glad to see the wolf, even if he was taking insane risks. But for Mr. Darcy to appear, two days later, in nearly the exact same spot, was pushing coincidence a little far. She felt rather as though her friend the wolf had ratted on her, and shown Mr. Darcy where to find her. She had no doubt that he could do that, but the question was why?

But she refused to believe Mr. Darcy was in love with her. If he was, then why would he speak freely when they were alone, but remain silent in company? Once again Col Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy had joined them for tea, but Mr. Darcy had said as little on this second visit as he had the first. No, he must be ashamed of her acquaintance, that he would not admit even a casual informality with her while in front of others.

Col Fitzwilliam had been as happy and charming as always. It was a shame that he was not in love with her. He was someone that could make her laugh. But though he had appeared mildly flirtatious on first meeting, now he was perfectly amiable--with everyone. He did not single her out in the least. In her cruelest moments, she remembered Mr. Wickham, and wondered if Mr. Darcy had said something to Col Fitzwilliam to keep him away from her. And then she brushed it off. She had come to Hunsford to reconcile a friendship, not start a romance. Besides, she could hardly expect the son of an Earl to truly consider her. She did not think she was less than him, but she well knew there would be responsibilities expected of his wife, and didn't think she would enjoy taking them on.

At least he didn't treat her like scum on the bottom of his shoe like Mr. Darcy. She supposed it was too much to hope to never see him again, but she still had several weeks left on her visit with Charlotte, and given the company of Lady Catherine, she could understand why even Mr. Darcy would seek company elsewhere. But she had told him that she walked that path every morning. Given how painful their meetings were, surely he would avoid it from now on. She didn't allow herself to think of what would happen if she met him again.

The next day it rained, hard enough to keep her indoors against her will. If she were at home at Longbourn, she probably would have gone out regardless, but then she was more secure of her surroundings at home. She knew people would come looking for her if she failed to show up. She knew the strongest storm mage in Britain would part the clouds to find her, if necessary. She knew any number of wild creatures would let her take shelter in their dens. Here the lands had been combed too well, and the large animals driven away. Even the small ones were extra cautious, and she got the impression they were often subject to poisoning and trapping. So she stayed home, and helped with the endless mending that somehow fell to a parson's wife. She listened to Mr. Collins fret about the weather and the health of Lady Catherine and Anne.

Surreptitiously she shared the story of when she and Mr. Collins had been caught in the rain. Charlotte looked to be scandalized at first, but slowly began to find a little mirth in it. The rift between them started to heal, though there remained a distance Lizzy didn't think would ever be breached. Facing the same choice, they had gone different ways. Neither of them could fathom the decision of the other. Perhaps it was better that way, Lizzy mused. She would always respect Charlotte, and remember what they had shared together as children, but they were adults now, and very different people.

The next day was very cold and gray. The ground was sloppy, but at least it wasn't actively raining. She escaped out the house before anyone was awake to stop her. She took pleasure in her morning walk, even as she missed the familiar paths of Hertfordshire. Rosings Park was a little too plain, too fixed in her mind. There were no longer any patches of wildness lingering in the plants or animals. Everything felt dull and stupid. She had forgotten what normal animals were like, those that had not been exposed to her all their lives.

She pushed herself harder than usual, taking some of her frustration out by stomping happily through the puddles. Even the mud didn't seem as satisfyingly dirty as it was in Hertfordshire. Mr. Darcy had set an agonizingly slow pace the last time she'd been able to take a walk, and she found herself chaffing like a horse at being held back. Now she had no such restrictions, and moved at a clip just short of a full run. Should Lady Catherine see her now, she mused happily, the great lady would throw her out at once.

She grinned fiercely at the thought, and came unknowingly to the ambush place, as she thought of it, much sooner than she realized. She looked up, saw how far she had come, and then sighed loudly. Not one, but two figures waited for her up ahead. Was she to have no peace at all on her morning walks? Then her lips quirked up again. The gentlemen must be really desperate to get away from their aunt to have come out in this weather.

She modified her pace slightly so she wasn't quite so red-faced, but was determined that nothing was going to deter her walk this morning. "Gentlemen," she nodded to Col Fitzwilliam and Mr. Darcy as she moved past them. They fell into step beside her. Mr. Darcy kept up effortlessly, but Col Fitzwilliam had to skip at first, as though he hadn't expected her to be going so fast.

"Miss Elizabeth," both returned, Mr. Darcy a bit slower and more sullen than his cousin. They were quiet for a time. Lizzy began to get annoyed. What was the point of interrupting her solitary walk if they weren't going to say anything?

"So, gentlemen," she said archly. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Col Fitzwilliam give her a surprised look. Perhaps he hadn't been much exposed to her other side, as she had done her utmost to be nice to him. Out of the corner of her other eye, she saw Mr. Darcy give a very small smile. Blast him.

Col Fitzwilliam spoke with mock solemnity. "I'm afraid, dear lady, I have come to bid you farewell."

That stopped her. She froze on the path, facing him. "You're leaving?" she repeated plaintively. Mr. Darcy loomed silent behind her, close enough that she imagined she could feel his warmth. Too close for comfort. She would be glad to see the last of him, but did he have to take his happy cousin with him?

Col Fitzwilliam gave an overblown bow. "Alas, I must part. But don't worry, my cousin here will keep you company."

A horrible feeling swamped her. She turned, very slowly, to look over her shoulder at Mr. Darcy. "You're staying?" her tone was almost accusatory. His face looked even more dour than usual. He was as unhappy to be left in her presence as she was to be in his.

Col Fitzwilliam chuckled, and her attention turned back to him. For the first time she noticed that he was wearing travel clothes, and Mr. Darcy was not. He winked at her. "Now, I know that Darcy is so talkative, so you must promise me that you will try to get a word in edgewise, every now and then."

Mr. Darcy made an undefined noise of disgust.

Lizzy's eyebrows rose. Col Fitzwilliam only grinned broader. "How long will you be gone?" she asked desperately. She was all but begging him to come back. It was more than the fact that he was the only friendly person she had met at Rosings Park. He provided a safe buffer against the ire of Lady Catherine and Mr. Darcy. If the conversation flagged or turned uncomfortable, the Colonel was an expert at turning the subject to something light. If she was left to just Mr. Darcy's company, she would go mad. Or kill him. Fitz was the only saving factor, but she didn't know if even the wolf could protect him.

"Oh, I don't know," Col Fitzwilliam said with a shrug. "Shouldn't be more than a week or two. There's a horse fair that I'm traveling to, should be a few days there, see what I can find. I'm determined to find a mount for Darcy, see, so you can imagine it might take a while."

"A horse for Mr. Darcy?" she said doubtfully. She would have said it was impossible. She remembered the reaction of Mr. Bingley's horse Scepter, and then thought about the Colonel's own horse, Cannon. Cannon had not been easy, but at least a lot more accepting than Scepter had been. If anyone could find a horse that could tolerate a wolf on its back, it would be Col Fitzwilliam. Her magic was stronger than his, but broad and covered all different types of plants and animals. He knew but a singular subject, yet she was willing to bet he could have taught her much about horses.

"I wish you luck, Col Fitzwilliam," she said formally.

"I'll need all the luck I can get," he laughed. "Have you ever tried to get a horse near a werewolf?"

Even knowing that the three of them already knew, that there was no possible way anyone else could have heard them, it was still a shock to hear it said so blatantly.

"For God's sake, have you no sense?" Mr. Darcy muttered uncharitably. Lizzy's elbow jerked in pure reflex, and connected solidly with his ribs. He sucked in a startled breath through his nose. Col Fitzwilliam grinned openly at the two of them. Lizzy flushed. She did not dare look at Mr. Darcy. She hadn't liked hearing Mr. Darcy's lycanthropy spoken out loud, for Fitz's sake, but she liked even less the disdain in Mr. Darcy's voice for his cousin.

"It was very nice to have met you," she said quickly, stepping forward and away from Mr. Darcy. She held her hand out to Col Fitzwilliam, and he took it and bowed elaborately.

"Very pleased to have met you, Miss Elizabeth," he responded teasingly, making her laugh. "If I may say so, you are one fine filly."

Mr. Darcy huffed a noisy sigh, but Lizzy beamed at Col Fitzwilliam. She recognized the compliment for what it was. Like the blacksmith back in Meryton, Col Fitzwilliam was first and foremost a horseman. To be called a horse by one such was the highest comparison he could make. For that she could almost forgive him for leaving her with Mr. Darcy. "You may, and Godspeed," she said earnestly. The sooner he returned, the less likely bloodshed would be.

Col Fitzwilliam winked at her, and then sauntered off whistling, leaving her with a very sullen werewolf. He always seemed even more glum and taciturn next to his lively cousin. She found that her desire for walking had waned sharply. Mr. Darcy moved as if to offer his arm, but she was already turning back toward Hunsford. "I do not think I desire company this morning," she announced, taking advantage of his distraction to push her magic at Fitz. Stay, she begged him. "I shall return on my own." She didn't get her full walk that day.

She was quite depressed at Col Fitzwilliam's departure, and stayed close to the cottage all day. Unfortunately, Charlotte and Mr. Collins rowed, and the atmosphere remained tense. Mr. Collins evidently felt the matter settled, but Charlotte kept sniping at him with poisonous politeness. Most of these barbs failed to find their mark, but were a constant reminder to Lizzy of how much she didn't want a marriage like Charlotte's.

She was not na•ve enough to think she would never fight with her husband, but she hoped that after tempers were spent, each of them would take the time to listen to the other, and eventually to make up. This dreadful resentment played badly on her nerves, and she went to bed early. The morning was even more damp and grey than the day before. A thick fog had rolled in, and served to make everything obscure and distant.

Stubbornly she went for her walk anyway. She was still troubled, and moved as if in a dream. Her feet were familiar enough with the path by now to carry her automatically. She was so deep in thought, she didn't notice Fitz until he gave a soft woof, just before she would have walked into him. She jumped in surprise, but the big wolf wasn't trying to scare her this time. He stood in the middle of the way, a dark shadow in the fog. Her own preoccupation had prevented her from noticing until she was nearly on top of him.

She sighed. "You know better than this," she said heavily. His head hung, and he began to slink away. "Where are you going?" she demanded. "The least you can do is to escort me for a little while."

He paused, cocking his head at her, and then moved to her side. The fog had made dew droplets on his fur, and they looked like tiny diamonds. She rested her hand between his broad shoulders, and felt immeasurably better. This morning, she decided, she didn't want to be alone. They took a few steps together, naturally moving in tandem.

Lizzy opened her mouth, and a sudden vomit of words came out. She spoke about the fight between Charlotte and Mr. Collins, though by this time no one could remember what it was about. She spoke of the polite snarls from Charlotte, the unwillingness of Mr. Collins to see another point of view. He was constantly beating the proverbial dead horse, always harping on the same thing over and over until Charlotte was beaten with it.

She didn't mean to, but once she started she couldn't stop. She talked about what Charlotte was like as a little girl, growing up with her and talking romance and princes and castles. She spoke of how Mr. Collins had proposed to her--Fitz growled--and the way she'd turned him down. She told him about her own desire to never marry but for the deepest love. She recounted the resentment of Mrs. Bennet, and how she couldn't understand why Charlotte had given in so easily. She spoke of her own parents' failed marriage, her father's retreat into his study, her mother's hysterics. The way she'd had to take over the management of the estate to prevent utter ruin, and that there would be a mountain of work for her to do when she returned home.

She talked about Jane, how heartbroken her sister was. Her letters were getting more infrequent, and she was afraid Jane was slowly dying, unable to get past Mr. Bingley. Fitz started slightly at that. She rather guiltily hoped that was something he didn't feel the need to pass onto Mr. Darcy. She was still unclear how much of the man lingered when Fitz was before her. Certainly he couldn't be very aware of what was going on, or he would have never visited so often, or lingered this long. She aired her doubts about waiting for love. Was Charlotte right, and it was better to take the sure thing? But look where that had gotten her! And yet how was Lizzy better, still alone, with little to recommend her? And consider Jane, who had found love, just to prove it unfaithful. Did love truly exist or was it a myth as great as the world in the center of the universe?

At some point, Fitz pressed her off the path, and led her to a stone garden she had never seen before. There was a bench, but she forewent the bench in favor of sitting on the ground. Fitz laid beside her and rested his head in her lap. She stroked his ears, and he didn't mind it when tears fell on his fur. His warm tongue gently lapped her cheeks, a more tender gesture she had never experienced. Once, his muzzle tipped back, and he let out a low, long sound, softer than a howl, but full of grief and heartbreak. He sounded exactly how she felt.

In the end, he was soft, warm and huggable, and a very dear friend for having listened to her so long. The sun had burned away much of the fog by the time she stopped talking. Her voice was hoarse from talking so long, her nose swollen from sobbing. The day was still grey and watery, but somehow she felt better. She rose to her feet, staggering on legs gone stiff and numb. Fitz shoved his weight under her, steadying her until she could feel her toes again.

He walked her all the way to the gates of Hunsford, where he stopped walking at last. She turned to face him. "Thank you," she whispered, "for all you have done for me." She kissed him on the muzzle again. He stared at her urgently, as though there was something he wished to say. She wished for once that he could speak. But then, he would probably speak with Mr. Darcy's voice, and she was in no mood to spoil the moment between them. She patted his head one last time, and entered the cottage.

She found Mr. Collins in an uproar. They had been invited by Lady Catherine for lunch, and her disappearance threatened the entire thing. "I do not feel so good," she pleaded, only half lying. "Do go on without me. I shall be fine here."

Mr. Collins looked as though he were about to have an apoplexy, but Charlotte took one look at her and saw that she had been crying. By some miracle she convinced Mr. Collins to go without her, and Lizzy was left to herself in the cottage. The house was at once too quiet. It was missing the ruckus of Longbourn. It lacked even the loving feeling of warmth from her aunt and uncle's house in London, though that house too was seldom quiet. She took out one of the books she had brought from Mr. Bennet's library, but was unable to settle on reading it.

She had scarcely been alone half an hour when she heard the sound of swift footsteps, and a sudden knock on the door. She blinked in surprise. It must be one of the parishioners, though they had never called on Mr. Collins while she had been there. Whoever it was, they were very impatient, and knocked again before she was halfway to the door. It must be something very urgent, she mused, as she moved quickly to answer it. Did she dare travel to Rosings Park to fetch Mr. Collins? If it was something minor, could she perhaps deal with it herself? If only it was plant or animal related, she would be confident.

She got the door open, and her breath left her in a rush. Mr. Darcy stood there, his fist raised to knock again. "Miss Elizabeth," he whispered hoarsely, staring at her. It fast became awkward. She frowned at him, then looked down at herself. She had changed dresses from the morning's activity, and she could find no obvious flaws in her apparel. What did he need to go on staring at her for?

"Forgive me," he said curtly, drawing himself up. "I heard you were ill. May I come in?" Without waiting for an answer, he entered the house.

"Please do," she said sardonically, shutting the door behind him. "You were with me all morning," she pointed out, though in fact she had been with the half that she preferred. His face actually colored, and he looked away. If he wasn't so annoying, it would have been cute. As it was, that was all the confirmation she needed to know he was aware of that morning, even if he hadn't been immediately present.

"You seemed upsetÉ" he trailed off awkwardly. Her face flushed in deep mortification. Oh God, how much did he remember? It was bad enough to know he had witnessed her break down. It was worse to wonder how many of her confessions he had heard. How horrible he must think her now, weak and womanly.

"Did it never occur to you that I might want to be alone?" she muttered, staring determinedly at her shoes. Her face was a dark, brick red, and she couldn't look at him. He had witnessed her humiliation in a way she'd never intended. The things she had said were what she might tell Jane, or Charlotte when they were closer. Certainly she would have never told Mr. Darcy, in a hundred years! The only reason she had spoken to Fitz was because he couldn't speak to spill her secrets, the same way she might write secret thoughts in a journal. To find that her journal had suddenly spilled her innermost secrets wasÉ She wanted to crawl into a deep hole, and never come out.

Mr. Darcy made an unintelligible noise, and left as quickly as he had come. She sighed in relief, but it didn't release the tight knot in her chest. What would he do with the knowledge she had unknowingly given him? He must scorn her even more now, not just for her--in his eyes--petty concerns, but because she had told them all to his wolf, like she was a child speaking to her teddy bear. No more of that, she vowed. She must remember that under Fitz was Mr. Darcy. Fitz had stayed and listened to her, but Mr. Darcy never would. She would not subject herself, or him, to that humiliation again.

The day dawned bright and clear, but she almost didn't go for her customary walk. She was afraid of who she would meet on the path, Fitz or Mr. Darcy. Even when she had determined to set out, she nearly chose a different course. It would be so much easier to avoid him altogetherÉ Then she lifted her chin and steeled her will. No, she would not be driven away by his presence. She walked boldly, heart beating fast at what she would say to him if he interrupted her walk again.

She needn't have worried. She was not bothered as she walked, and perversely was slightly disappointed. It wasn't that she wanted company on her walks. It was only that, perhaps, she had grown used to it. Even in the worst possibility, that Mr. Darcy had arrived, she could have vented some of her anger and frustration on him. He would maintain his ever-so-cool mask, but would be hating her as much as she hated him. That would have been satisfying, to have one of their rows of mutual dislike.

Instead she walked alone. Indeed, over the next three days, she never saw any of the inhabitants of Rosings Park. They did not dine with Lady Catherine, and Mr. Darcy did not deign to visit Hunsford at all. Maybe, she thought cheerfully, she had successfully driven off Mr. Darcy at last. What a relief it was to never have the mortification of seeing him again! She thought she could pass the remaining time at Hunsford happily, if she was never obliged to wait on any member of that family again.

The one sole exception to that was Col Fitzwilliam, but as yet there was little sign that he would return. Her peace would have been complete, but for Mr. Collins continually fretting over Lady Catherine, and his pointed remarks that she should be more grateful for her stay in Hunsford. She gave answers as empty as his prattle, ones that sounded good, but somehow failed to satisfy.

Her respite from Mr. Darcy was not to last. She no longer dreaded to see a figure along her walking route. It was a surprise then, when she returned to Hunsford and Mr. Collins came out of the gates toward her. He was flapping his arms emphatically, looking so comical that she stopped and stared. He looked like an ungainly duck, trying to learn to fly. A laugh welled up in her chest, barely suppressed as he reached her, red-faced and panting.

"Hurry up, girl," he hissed breathlessly. He started to take her arm, but she stepped around him, narrowing her eyes dangerously. "Mr. Darcy has been waiting for you for this last half hour!" he said. "Where have you been? He is the nephew of Lady Catherine, and you have kept him waiting! Don't you see the honor he is paying our humble abode, and you must always disappear at all hours!"

He went on in that vein for some time, wasting time and breath chastising her when they could have been at the house already. She refrained from pointing out that she had hardly disappeared. She had been taking morning walks ever since she arrived, and with a few exceptions had always returned to the cottage near the same time. She also didn't point out that Mr. Darcy could hardly have been waiting for her, as he detested her.

She steeled herself for the unpleasant meeting. There was nothing for it but to get it done with as soon as possible. No doubt Mr. Collins then would lecture her on the proper modes of address to the nephew of Lady Catherine, and point out her every flaw she had committed. She lengthened her stride to leave Mr. Collins behind. He broke into a run rather than fall back, and she slowed her pace at once. It was bad enough that he was hovering over her. Watching him try to hover, and keep up, was plainly mortifying.

Mr. Collins didn't need any help appearing ridiculously unctuous; mostly she was trying to differentiate her actions from him. She would not bow and scrape before Mr. Darcy, no matter what painful secrets he might know about her. She would not fawn over him because of his connection to Lady Catherine. She would treat him with as much respect as he deserved. If he so chose to act rudely, as was his arrogant habit, then she would be all too pleased to see him out on his ear.

She entered the cottage. Mr. Collins had been desperately suggesting that she sneak in and retire to her room to change, but she ignored him as always. Mr. Darcy knew full well where she was at this hour, and if he had been waiting a long time, that was his own fault. The gentleman was sitting in one of the spindly table chairs, but when she came in he leapt up. The chair scraped the floor loudly. "Miss Elizabeth," he said too quickly, his fingers fidgeting with the brim of his hat.

"Mr. Darcy," she acknowledged neutrally. She frowned at his hands. Had she ever seen him fidget before?

"You will sit?" he said forcibly. Only the slightest hesitation at the end made it a question rather than command. He indicated the chair he had vacated.

"Thank you, I believe I will," she said, then ignored his chair to sit near Charlotte on the couch. Charlotte was once again mending.

Mr. Darcy sat abruptly. His weight came down harshly on the little chair, and she winced at the creak of protest. He was lucky it didn't break under him. Too much more rough treatment, and it would. Mr. Collins remained nearby, attempting to ingratiate himself with Mr. Darcy by praising both Lady Catherine and her daughter Anne. He was ignored by everyone in the room.

Mr. Darcy stared at Lizzy. She tried to be unaffected, but it was impossible not to react when a man with such presence focused his attention solely on her. So she stared back. She knew he saw her lack of fancy attire. His suit alone probably cost more than her sisters' entire wardrobes. She did not dress fashionably, but she would not be intimidated by his disapproval. If she was such a pain to his senses, then he could look away.

He met her eyes, and her mouth went dry. He had a strength that was not physical, and it was difficult not to look away. She didn't know if it had to do with Fitz, or if it was just the man himself. The awkwardness of the situation rose quickly. Even Mr. Collins felt it, his voice turning squeaky as he failed to gain Mr. Darcy's approbation.

Mr. Darcy was the first to look away. Lizzy's lips lifted in a smirk, though she controlled it quickly. It was more than winning a childish contest; it was not backing down before Mr. Darcy. Yes, he had seen her weakness, but she would prove that was an aberration in behavior. No more would she let herself be cowed by what he might reveal. If necessary, she would take the humiliation and chastisement, and hold her head high.

Mr. Darcy looked around frantically, searching for anything to look at beside her. If she didn't know better, she would say that she had disconcerted him. She sent out a whisper of magic toward Fitz. The wolf seemed distracted by something, and barely gave her an acknowledgement. If she had to guess, she would have said the werewolf was struggling with himself, his two halves at odds with each other.

At least this time it wasn't as soul-rending and destructive as the last, and she resolved not to interfere. Mr. Darcy had to live with Fitz for the rest of their lives, and she, thankfully, was a temporary affliction on them. She doubted she would have many invitations to Hunsford, and it wasn't like Mr. Darcy would ever return to Hertfordshire. Mr. Darcy's eyes landed on the book she had attempted to read several days past.

He rose abruptly, causing the chair to shudder. "You're not reading this?" he demanded, grabbing the book and rounding on her. She lifted her chin in defiance. There was no mistaking the accusation in his tone. No doubt the book, a controversial volume of natural history from a magical study, was not something he approved of young women reading. She took a perverse pleasure in pronouncing, "I already have." It was one from Mr. Bennet's library, and her father had allowed her to bring it.

"Have you read the second volume?" Mr. Darcy asked in the same tone of voice.

"I have not," she admitted reluctantly. Mr. Bennet, after perusing it once, had not been interested enough to purchase the further issue.

"I shall send it over," he announced curtly, and without warning strode out the door. Stunned silence fell in the cottage. Mr. Collins gaped after him like a fish on dry land. Not even he could seem to understand Mr. Darcy's rudeness. Lizzy rolled her shoulders, relieving the stress built up. Such a big flurry, and the amount of time spent at the cottage was less than it took him to walk from Rosings Park. Charlotte tittered unhelpfully, but thankfully didn't voice her opinion in front of her husband. Mr. Collins turned to Lizzy, puffing himself up.

He proceeded to sermonize her on the glory of being lent on of Mr. Darcy's books, and how to treat such a holy object. "I am well able to care for a book, thank you," she snapped, unable to take more of his senseless chatter. She took Mr. Bennet's book, and hid in her room. It was hardly an ideal state of affairs, but anything to get away from Mr. Collins. He was worse than a flock of gossiping crows!

Little though she wanted to admit it, she really wanted to read the second volume of that book. She wasn't pleased to have to accept the book from Mr. Darcy, but she would put aside her dislike of him for the pleasure of reading. All that day she kept listening for a knock on the door. She did not expect him to come again, but she was hoping he would have sent a footman to deliver the book. The only one to visit the cottage was an old parishioner picking up his mended clothes.

The next day, she looked eagerly for Mr. Darcy at the usual place in her walk, but he was not there. Nor was Mr. Collins flapping in agitation when she returned. She didn't want to appear too eager, but she was constantly listening for footsteps outside. She even bore Mr. Collins' company, just for the sake of being near the door. She even would have braved a dinner at Rosings Park, had the invitation come down from on high. But it didn't.

Night fell with no word from Mr. Darcy. Charlotte gave her a sympathetic look, but said nothing. There did seem to be an awful lot of nothing going around, she thought bitterly. Mr. Collins talking about nothing. Charlotte saying nothing. And Mr. Darcy giving nothing to her. She clung to the faintest hope the next morning, thinking that now perhaps he might be waiting on the path for her. She returned to the cottage alone, empty-handed. She was forced to admit she had been played for a dunce.

Chapter Eighteen

If Charlotte was right about Mr. Darcy, he would have never left Lizzy waiting like this. He knew she liked to read; some of their few amiable conversations had been about books. She had thought it extremely odd that he would lend a book to someone he so detested as her, but had considered that perhaps the love of reading overrode personal disdain. Now, though, she realized it had been a very great joke on her. He had read the first book, obviously, and the second. He owned a copy. He was rich enough to travel with it negligently. It was a swat in the face, to dangle it in front of her, yet never deliver on his promise. She could not confront him on it. If she did, he would only shrug as if he had merely forgotten. He would like to see her disappointment. So she would disappoint him, and forget the book ever existed!

Charlotte and Mr. Collins left to attend the parishioners. Lizzy opted to remain behind. It was a rare warm day, and she wanted to take advantage of it while she could. She sat in Charlotte's garden, opening her magic to the plants around her. They didn't like the soil, yet under her coaxing they slowly began to put out stronger roots and new leaves. The work was both soothing and wearying, and she lost herself for a time in the rhythm of growth and sunshine.

She was so focused on the plants, that she failed to notice the approach of an animal. A deep bark called her attention. She opened her eyes groggily to see Fitz's large, dark head panting at her from over the garden wall. She blinked slowly at him, wondering what he was doing. Before she could gather herself to ask--it always took a few moments to collect her thoughts after bonding so deeply with plants--his head disappeared.

He was only gone for a second though. She heard a grunt of effort, and all fifteen plus stone of wolf came sailing over the four foot wall. He was beautiful in motion, she thought, legs tucked neatly under him, fur blow back by the wind of his passage, head and tail streaming proudly. The only thing which marred his outline was the bulky object he carried in his mouth. For a moment she thought it was a rabbit or other such creature he had fetched for her, the same as the dogs from Lucas Lodge.

But no, it was a good deal more square and regular than the body of a small animal. Fitz landed heavily, leaving deep prints in the newly loosened soil of the garden. He paused, shook his fur into place, and then trotted toward her. He carried a book. An expensive looking one, bound in leather with gold embossing on the cover. Even before he was close enough for her to read the title, she knew what it was.

He stopped in front of her, clearly offering her the book. She stared at it, and him, in dismay. Here was further proof that she had underestimated Mr. Darcy's presence in Fitz. Fitz could not read. He might know her desire for a book, but could not tell one from the other. Only Mr. Darcy could. Which meant that Mr. Darcy had to be fairly close to the surface to have chosen the book specifically for her.

UnlessÉ What if he had just laid out the book, and then shifted, leaving Fitz with the instructions to bring this particular one to her. That meant he wouldn't have heard her terrible confessions, but it also meant that he had much less control over his wolf. Less control meant higher risk of discovery, for the wolf wouldn't be as naturally cautious as the man. She wasn't sure which option disturbed her more.

Fitz whined around a mouthful of book, and belatedly she reached out and took it from him. Mr. Darcy's copy of the second book was much finer than her father's copy of the first, but that was only to be expected. She traced the imprint of teeth on the soft leather, wincing slightly. There was more than one set, as though he had picked up the book more than once. The damage was all recent, she noted, paler than the surrounding leather. As soon as Mr. Bennet realized what she could do with her magic, he had demanded that his library be an animal-free zone. No dog was ever caught chewing on one of his books.

Still, if Mr. Darcy didn't mind it, and this was his own bookÉ "Thank you, sir," she told the wolf, not quite knowing whom she should address. She opened the cover and turned the first few pages. It looked to be just as interesting a read as the first, and she settled in the garden to take advantage of the bright sunshine. Fitz whined, and moved so his shadow fell over her page. She looked at him and laughed. "I'm sorry, am I neglecting you?" She scratched under his chin, and he appeared temporarily satisfied.

He laid by her side, slyly worming his head into her lap. She chuckled again, taking a moment to rub his ears before returning to the book. She turned a single page, and Fitz forcibly nudged the book with his nose. She caught it before he knocked it off her lap. "What is it?" she asked in exasperation. When a lap dog jealously directed her attention away from her current object, it was amusing. When a giant wolf attempted the same thing, it was decidedly less so.

Fitz glanced at her, then deliberately looked at the book. A chill went through her. Was he truly asking what she thought he was? He continued to watch her expectantly. She cleared her throat awkwardly, and then began to read out loud. He settled once more, not disturbing her. Her words faltered for a moment. How could a wolf know about reading aloud? Easy: he couldn't. Which could only mean that Mr. Darcy had requested it. And Mr. Darcy now laid with his head in her lap, her hand absently stroking his furÉ

She shuddered and forced her thoughts away from that line of thinking. It was far more comforting to think the wolf was in charge, and found the sound of her voice soothing. The other possibility had way too many implications to it, and she didn't want to pursue it. She read from the book for a while, even after Fitz's head grew heavy, and he began to snore lightly.

She stopped abruptly when she heard voices approaching. Charlotte and Mr. Collins were coming back. Panic shot through her. "Fitz!" she hissed, shaking him hard. He leapt to his feet with a snarl. "Go! You've got to go!" she whispered fiercely, trying to push him away. He wouldn't move. He had woken to protect her, not to flee. That was the worst thing that could possibly happen, a startled wolf suddenly being discovered in the rector's garden. And then Fitz shuddered, and something alien washed over him, something foreign and untouchable to her magic. He glanced at her, dipped his muzzle briefly, and then took off silently. He flew over the wall as easily as he had the first time, and was gone.

She breathed a sigh of relief, just as Charlotte and Mr. Collins entered the garden. Charlotte frowned after Fitz.

"Were you talking to someone?" she asked suspiciously.

"Umm, no," Lizzy gulped. Her fingers guiltily traced the teeth marks on the book's cover. Unfortunately the movement drew Mr. Collins' eyes.

"Is that Mr. Darcy's book?" he demanded.

She started, her face flushing.

Charlotte gave a triumphant, "Ha!"

"Yes, he leant it to me," Lizzy glared daggers at her friend, wishing she would drop this entire Mr. Darcy business.

"Are those teeth marks on the book?" Mr. Collins squeaked in indignation. He drew himself up. "I know, dear cousin," he said in his most nasal tone, "That you cannot be used to such fine things at your level. I was astonished at all that Mr. Darcy would allow one such as you to borrow such a great volume for reading. Why, I have never seen Lady Catherine heft such a weighty tome, and she herself is a very great reader in the manner that all fine ladies must aspire to. But for you to despoil such a great work already, you bring dishonor on yourself--"

"It was like that when it was given to me," she interrupted desperately, before he could demand that she pay to replace the book. "It wasÉ" she racked her mind for the story to explain Fitz's presence. "Colonel Fitzwilliam's dog!" she burst out.

Mr. Collins frowned. "The Colonel isn't even here, and I have never seen him with a dog of any sort. Lady Catherine absolutely abhors creatures which walk in the dirt, and would never allow them in Rosings Park."

For a moment Lizzy's mind went blank, as she tried to imagine what animal did not walk in the dirt. Snakes, she supposed, as they slithered instead of walked. Maybe birds, whose main mode of travel was flight? She dragged her mind from the absurdity of his statement. "Uh, he left his dog with Mr. Darcy. I think perhaps it stays at the stables?" Mentally she crossed her fingers, praying that Mr. Collins would know nothing about the animals staying at the stables. Even she had not been able to approach. A gardener had chased her off the first time she drew near, and she had not been back since.

Mr. Collins puffed indignantly. "Are you suggesting that such a great and important man like Mr. Darcy, one who would not stoop to acknowledge you in the street, yet generous enough to lend you a very precious copy of his book, would allow a filthy dog to gnaw on his own books?"

She thought of Fitz. Since coming to Hunsford, she had never seen him less than immaculate, and he could hardly be described as gnawing on the book he had carried. He hadn't even slobbered on the book, more than a little.

"I did see a dog just leave the garden," Charlotte put in, attempting to soothe her husband. Instead he rounded on Lizzy triumphantly.

"See there!" he declared. "There has been a beast, no doubt some filthy stray, within the garden just now, and you seek to blame your carelessness on a gentleman that has no peer!"

Something tickled at the back of Lizzy's mind, distracting her. That was the only excuse she had for not blocking Mr. Collins when he suddenly swooped down and seized the book from her. "This must be returned to its rightful owner at once! For shame, cousin, I thought you had at least a little care for your superiors. Instead I find that you have disappointed Lady Catherine and myself at every turnÉ"

The rest of his speech was drowned out as the pressure in her mind grew, and she suddenly recognized it. Anger. Rage. The urge to protect. Powerful muscles coiling to spring. Her eyes darted around frantically. Wherever Fitz was, he was well hidden, but he could hear everything that was happening. And he didn't like it in the least. She had to get out of sight, get her stupid cousin and friend indoors before Fitz lost control completely.

She jumped to her feet. "You're absolutely right," she said breathlessly, bowing her head even as she continued to glance about surreptitiously. "I apologize greatly, and I shall retire to my room to think on my transgressions." She all but ran inside, seeking to remove herself from the situation. Mr. Collins followed, his mouth flapping dumbly. Charlotte knew something was wrong, and looked around the garden shrewdly, but she too entered the cottage and shut the door.

Lizzy relaxed minutely when the door was closed. It would not be a great barrier to Fitz, but they were removed from his immediate vicinity. Hopefully he would begin to calm down. Go away, she pleaded silently with him, not sure how far her magic could reach him. She sensed vaguely that he was not happy, but the feel of him began to fade.

She left Mr. Collins to his wife, and sequestered herself once more in her tiny room. She was beginning to actually hate the borrowed space. And worse, she no longer had the book. All she'd had was a short afternoon of reading out loud, and she really wished she could have continued reading it. No doubt Mr. Darcy would laugh himself sick when Mr. Collins gave him back the book, and she would have lost the opportunity to read it. When she got back to Longbourn, she would have to see about convincing her father to purchase a copy, though one not so fine as Mr. Darcy's. Then she winced. No, she balanced the finances of Longbourn, though maths was not her strong point. They wouldn't have the money to get even a second hand copy.

The next day, before her morning walked, she snooped around the cottage looking for the book. It felt degrading to be reduced to this, but she knew it was still nearby. Somehow Charlotte had convinced Mr. Collins not to go peeling out at once to tattle on her, so she knew it was here. A quick but thorough search yielded nothing. The only room not looked into belonged to the sleeping couple. She shuddered. Nothing could entice her to go in there.

Reluctantly she left on her walk. She wondered if Mr. Collins would be gone when she got back, so she would be spared the further humiliation of his sermons. And he didn't even know she had saved his life yesterday! Possibly. Depending on how irrational Fitz decided to be about protecting her. She frowned morosely, kicking a stone down the path, and started when the stone suddenly fetched up against another pair of shoes.

"Good morning, Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy said with a slight bow. It was the warmest she had ever heard his voice. If she hadn't been so frustrated over the loss of the book and Mr. Collins' accusations, she would have quite liked it. She nodded bitterly, and moved past him without a word. He fell into step beside her.

"How goes your reading?" he asked casually.

She shot him a heated look, but he seemed genuinely interested. She sighed. "Wasn't able to get very far. I read faster when I'm not speaking it aloud." That was the only allusion she was willing to make toward Fitz being with her yesterday. She sincerely didn't want to know if the man next to her was the one directing the wolf. It had to be impossible. She knew Fitz. He was strong, defiant. He would never give up control to another. The thought immeasurably cheered her, and she spoke hesitantly of her reading, as if Mr. Darcy knew nothing about it.

He responded, and quite soon the discussion had taken off. He didn't offer his arm to her at first--she wouldn't have taken it--but somehow she ended up holding to him anyway. As before, she found him to be intelligent and quick-witted. He admitted that both volumes had been part of his study of magic at the university, and was willing to share the observations of his professors and fellow students.

Secretly, Lizzy had always wanted to attend university. It was not unheard of for gifted female mages to attend. She could have had access to much greater knowledge and training. Everything she knew now either Mr. Bennet had taught her, or she'd learned herself. But the money had never stretched that far. Even though Mr. Bennet himself had attended university, he remained distantly scornful of it, and she had never brought the subject up to him. Now she monopolized the conversation, asking questions about the university and classes she would never get an opportunity to see for herself. She was sure Mr. Darcy must have hated it; she was asking questions like an enthusiast, about something that was very common to him, but he never gave a sign of impatience.

They reached the gates of Hunsford sooner than she expected. She saw them, and stopped automatically. In the normal course of things, they would say goodbye, and the next time she saw Mr. Darcy he would be so rude she would want to slap him. It was a shame he couldn't maintain his amiable moods for very long. He actually wasn't bad to get along with in those moments. It was just the other times that overwhelmed his positive qualities.

Mr. Darcy did not stop when she did. He kept walking, speaking of some of the coursework he'd been assigned. He gently drew her along, so that she either had to dig in her heels to stop, or go with him. She went with him, confused as to where he was going. She gave him a curious look. The corners of his eyes crinkled, whether in tension or laugher she couldn't tell. His arm squeezed a little tighter to his side, tucking her closer to him.

Fitz had hardly been present during their walk, but abruptly he was very aware and near the surface. The way Mr. Darcy walked changed. She wouldn't have noticed it if she hadn't been watching, but suddenly he went from extraordinarily graceful human to supernaturally smooth stalk. She held her breath unconsciously, not knowing what was about to happen, but sure that something was.

They were in plain view of the cottage. Mr. Darcy finished his thought, and they strolled in silence. It only took Mr. Collins a second to burst from the cottage, brandishing the book at them both. Lizzy stopped again, wincing. She really didn't want to be present for this. Mr. Darcy tightened his grip on her subtly. His eyes met hers, briefly, and in that moment she saw Fitz laughing with mischief.

Mr. Collins wasn't in earshot before he began shouting accusations about her. The fact that she was standing, perfectly amiably, with the person she had supposedly offended was utterly lost on him. Mr. Darcy cut him off easily, plucking the book with one hand. "My cousin's dog chewed on the cover some time ago," he said with a straight face. "I do hope you didn't actually think Miss Elizabeth would have allowed something untoward to occur to a book. I have the highest regard for her as a reader, and a studier of books. I have no doubt she would protect any book in her care from harm, or I would not have lent it to her."

So saying, he turned and offered the book to Lizzy. She took it with numb fingers, hardly able to believe what she heard. Had Mr. Darcy offered her a compliment? Defended her so thoroughly against her cousin that he could not possibly retaliate? Both Lizzy and Mr. Collins were thoroughly stunned at his actions. Mr. Darcy inclined his head barely toward Mr. Collins, then bowed respectfully to Lizzy. When he arose, he met her eyes. His were uncommonly warm and soft. He smiled faintly, nodded to her, then left.

Both Mr. Collins and Lizzy gaped after him. It was almost enough to make Lizzy believe CharlotteÉ but that was impossible! Lizzy managed to collect herself first. She stepped around Mr. Collins, and quickly sequestered herself in her room. It wasn't such a bad place to be, now she had the book back! She read late into the night, longer than she should have. She strained her eyes by the light of a single candle. She knew she'd be chided for burning the candle down to nothing, but she wanted to finish as much as possible. Who knew when Mr. Collins would find another objection to her reading, or Mr. Darcy change his mind? She was convinced that the only reason he was being so kind was because of what he had overheard as a wolf the day before.

Perhaps he underwent a personality change, when he shifted to wolf? The things he heard as Fitz impressed him to be kinder when he reverted to human? And then a few days of being human made him remember how much he despised her. Maybe that explained some of his dramatic mood swings. The candle guttered out at last, and she sighed. She rubbed her burning eyes. Her mind spun with many thoughts, both about the book and the owner of it. She didn't think she would be able to sleep any time soon, but exhaustion crept up on her, and she was out quickly.

The next morning she was late waking up, but she went for her walk eagerly. She wanted to meet with Mr. Darcy again, to speak with him about the book. She had not finished it, it would take her days to do that, but she was eager to discuss what she had read. She reached the usual meeting place, but he was not there. Disappointed, she continued her walk, then turned back to the cottage. Maybe he would come by for tea? Those visits never ended well though.

She looked up near the gates of Hunsford, and her heart leapt when she saw a figure waiting for her. She sped her steps happily. She came within hailing distance, but the words died on her lips when she got a good look at Mr. Darcy. Instead of his usual suit, he wore traveling clothes. She froze on the road. He was leaving. He had come to say goodbye, the same as Col Fitzwilliam had. A well of irrational anger swarmed her. Just when she was coming to tolerate him, and he was going to leave like this!

She pressed her lips together, and instead of greeting him, she walked as though she had not seen him. He stepped into her path as she drew near, making it impossible for her to ignore him. "Mr. Darcy," she greeted him coolly.

He wore the impassive, arrogant mask over his face, giving no hint to his feelings. Inside, though, she could feel Fitz's agitation. Briefly she wondered if something was wrong, but she hardened herself against it. It was none of her concern.

"Miss Elizabeth," he replied, jerking his head in a bare approximation of a nod.

"I see you are leaving," she commented.

"Yes--"

She cut him off, taking delight in watching his eyes flash with temper. He could be stunning when he was upset. "I shall invite you inside then," she said curtly, "So that you may say goodbye to my cousin and his wife, if you wish."

"I do not," he said shortly, in a tone almost of disgust.

She gasped at his rudeness. Mr. Collins was not a relation she would wish on anyone, but he was blood, and Charlotte had never given cause for embarrassment. For him to so easily dismiss her hosts that way goaded her into rash action. "Then you can have nothing further to say to me," she announced, stepping around him haughtily.

He moved with devilish speed, seizing her arm in a bruising grip and forcing her to face him. "Elizabeth," he ground out, his lips pulled back from his teeth.

She gasped again, both at his painful grasp and his use of her name. "You do not have permission to call me that, sir!" she snapped. She did not demand that he release her, though she dearly wished to. Once the altercation had turned physical, nothing she could do would make him let go. She leaned away from him, but she was trapped, and unable to move. They were just out of sight of the cottage. A scream might bring help, but most likely Mr. Collins would just assume Mr. Darcy had every right to handle her thus, and do nothing. Charlotte would have been better, yet she was nothing compared to the strength of the werewolf.

"Miss Elizabeth," he growled. "Do not run from me."

She bit back a hot reply, realizing that it was a plea as much of a command. She should have known better. She'd felt that Fitz was already tense, and running from him had only triggered his instinct to hunt and chase. She stopped resisting Mr. Darcy. She forced herself to pretend her heart wasn't racing in terror. Her breathing was fast and shallow, and she focused on bringing herself under control again. Only once she had calmed slightly did she reach out to the wolf with her magic. She felt him, hidden but very present, aware of everything. She spent several silent moments reassuring him that she was not running away, though everything inside screamed for her to flee.

Slowly the snarling grimace on Mr. Darcy's face faded. He took a deep breath through his nose and released it between pursed lips. He did not let her go, but his harsh hold softened on her arm, becoming more bearable. His thumb rubbed absently, distracting her considerably.

"Thank you," he said eventually. His voice was still gruff, but he had lost the lupine growl. He breathed again, slow and measured, and then looked at her. "Miss Elizabeth. We will talk, when I return." He released her so suddenly she staggered. She barely caught her balance. She gaped at his back. She wanted to chase after him and scream, but held herself back. What did he think he was doing? Assaulting her like that, and just walking away? Insulting Charlotte and Mr. Collins? Leaving with that ominous, we will talk? And he didn't even say what he was coming back! Good riddance!

She snorted in frustration, grumbling under her breath. It annoyed her that she couldn't growl as well as he could. But then she didn't have a wolf living under her skin. She arrived back at the cottage. Charlotte noticed at once her flushed face. "Have a nice walk?" she asked sweetly. "Did you meet anyone?"

"No!" Lizzy snarled. Charlotte smirked, and didn't comment. She retrieved the book and sat out in the garden, but found she was too agitated to settle and read. What arrogance he displayed! It was such a shame that he could not remain consistent. Instead he was always changing on her, one moment polite, one moment heavy-handed, and the next defending her! To her own cousin! And she couldn't help but to notice that with Col Fitzwilliam's absence, the invitations to Rosings Park had ended. It wasn't that she wanted to go, because every moment spent listening to Lady Catherine was a torture, but it did seem indicative of how her acquaintance with Mr. Darcy had gone.

He could visit her, practically slumming in his opinion, but she was not permitted to grace the halls of his illustrious relations. Every interaction with him only highlighted how little he respected her. He might speak with her, lend her a book, but in the end, she was not on his level. She cheerfully abused Mr. Darcy's character in her mind. She remained irritable and restless the remainder of the day. That night she pondered his vagrancies. She was unable to sleep, and stared out the window at the garden. If she had been home at Longbourn, she would not have hesitated to go outside, but she did not feel secure enough here.

The night was very bright, silvery light turning the greens to black and washing out the other colors. She looked up at the nearly round moon, and suddenly everything made sense to her. She had forgotten to keep track of the phases of the moon, but abruptly she knew the reasons behind Mr. Darcy's departure, and his increasingly erratic behavior. The moon. She shouldn't have overlooked such a vital part of his life, but there it was, clear to see. There were only two days until it was full, she guessed, and then would be the three nights of the full moon, when his wolf was the strongest. As strange as it was, part of the changes to Mr. Darcy was that he now had monthly cycles. She giggled at that. It was so similar to a woman's courses it was ridiculous. The closer to the full moon he got, the more unpredictable and moody he got, just like her sisters. She wondered if he also got weepy and emotional, but that thought was verging on too personal for her to be comfortable with. Really, she should have figured that out a long time ago!

Still chuckling to herself, she was able to sleep at last. In the morning she woke determined to think of Mr. Darcy no more. She went on her walk, feeling better than she had for a long time. At least this time she knew she would remain completely undisturbed on her walk. There was quite simply, no one left at Rosings Park to visit her, unless Anne should suddenly develop the health to take a walk. She snorted with laughter as she rounded the corner near the end of her walk.

At the gates of Hunsford was yet another figure waiting for her. She slowed to a bare crawl, not sure who it could be. She was not looking forward to more awkward interactions, from anyone. She was tempted to slink off the path and hide, but the figure raised an arm to wave at her. He started forward, and she had no choice but to meet him. She could see only his outline. He was taller and thinner than Mr. Collins, so at least it was not her cousin.

For a second her heart caught in her throat, and she wondered if it was Mr. Darcy. But no, the man was not quite as tall or broad as that gentleman. "Hello, Miss Elizabeth!" the man called, and suddenly she knew who it was. She broke into a run, laughing wildly.

"Col Fitzwilliam!" she greeted delightedly. She dipped a quick curtsy to him, almost tripping in her haste to hail him. The Colonel laughed, and returned a deep bow with a broad flourish of his hands.

"Now this is a hero's welcome!" he exclaimed. "And I most definitely am a hero!"

She couldn't stop grinning at him. "And why are you a hero?" she teased pertly. She remembered his purpose in leaving, and added, "How went the horse fair? Did you find a mount for Mr. Darcy?"

He sniggered with mischief. "Have you ever seen the stables of Rosings Park?"

She shook her head mutely.

"Then come and see," he said mysteriously, holding his arm out to her. She took it without hesitation, and he tugged her along at a fast pace. His enthusiasm was catching, and soon they were laughing and running. It felt natural to be there, far more than it ever had with Mr. Darcy.

As before, one of the stable hands showed up and tried to deny them entrance. "She's with me," Col Fitzwilliam announced, and breezed past the man. She felt as though she was a naughty child again, sneaking into someplace forbidden to her. She had to suppress the urge to stick her tongue out at the man. The scent and presence of horses surrounded her, and she looked around wide-eyed. She had so missed animal companionship during her stay, and resolved that when she got home, she would never travel without Murray again. Feeling new, inquisitive minds against hers was a pleasure, and she wanted to stop and greet each horse separately.

Col Fitzwilliam was too impatient for that, and pulled her away before she could make proper introductions. He led her to a small out building with an empty paddock. "Now stay here," he instructed. "And no peeking!"

She giggled uncontrollably, but obediently placed her hands over her eyes. There were so many horses in the stables, that not one of them stood out from the others in her mind. She stood there a moment, absorbing the contact and savoring it, when something new intruded on her senses. She could feel a horse approaching. This one drew her attention because she was closer, and Lizzy could feel a fledgling bond forming for the man leading the mare. The other horses all told her that this one was new, different. The mare herself had a strong mind, almost arrogant in her confidence.

"Okay, open your eyes," Col Fitzwilliam whispered.

Lizzy did, and sucked in her breath at the beautiful mare in the paddock. She was chestnut and white, bright copper with bold clouds splashed over her hide. She was built like a slimmed down draft horse, elegant lines trailing down to fine feathers over her hooves. She snorted and trotted around the paddock, perfectly aware she was being admired.

"Her name is Aphrodite," Col Fitzwilliam breathed reverently. "She is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."

The mare was gorgeous. Her unusual spotted coat made her stand out boldly. She was built of grace and sophistication, yet there was also strength under her beauty. The mare circled restlessly, seeming to float over the grass without touching it. Lizzy felt the shape of her mind delicately. This was one spoiled child, even before Col Fitzwilliam had come into contact with her. She was high-strung and proud, extremely intelligent for a horse. Once she was fully bonded with Col Fitzwilliam, there was nothing she would not do for him.

"She is very nice," Lizzy said, but frowned slightly. This was the horse for Mr. Darcy? Perhaps she did not have the experience, but she would have thought a less flighty animal would have been more likely to accept a werewolf. This mare felt half-wild in her thoughts, and more than willing to kick or bite something which annoyed her.

"She is perfect," Col Fitzwilliam worshiped the mare with his eyes, utterly lost to her. Lizzy was beginning to have doubts about him as well. If he liked the mare so much, would he have gotten her just to give away?

"Is this mare for Mr. Darcy?" she asked carefully.

Col Fitzwilliam started violently. "What? God, no! Do you think I'd waste such beauty on my cousin? He is a very fine horseman, but he favors strength over elegance. I'm in charge of the Fitzwilliam stables, little though my family likes it. But this goddess, I bought her out of my own money. She is going into my personal stock."

"Ah, she is wonderful," Lizzy nodded. "So you didn't find a horse for Mr. Darcy?"

He grimaced. "I did, after a fashion, which is why I asked you here. First, I'd like to see you call to Aphrodite, if you please. I have never seen you work magic."

Posted on: 2013-06-03

Chapter Nineteen

Lizzy's face turned warm. She could already feel that Aphrodite was making a connection with Col Fitzwilliam, and she didn't want to break that. Her own magic was similar enough to his that she feared to overwhelm his touch on the mare. But he had asked, and was watching her expectantly. She extended her hand and clucked to the mare. "Here girl," she said, sending just a whisper of her power out.

Aphrodite snorted and showed them her heels. Col Fitzwilliam chuckled. "She's a bit of a rebel," he said with obvious relish. "Go ahead and call her hard. I know I can make a horse come even if they don't wish to. Can't you?"

The subtle jibe goaded her, and with his permission she put more effort into her call. Aphrodite resisted, but Lizzy kept up steady pressure. She did not want to crush the mare's will; she would allow the horse to find the correct answer to bring her relief. Aphrodite took a step forward, and Lizzy let up. The mare stood there a moment, considering it. Lizzy called again. Aphrodite paused, and then meekly walked up to Lizzy and snuffled her hand.

"Amazing," Col Fitzwilliam said. He slipped through the paddock fence and went to his mare. He placed his hands on her neck, leaning his forehead on her. Instantly Lizzy could feel his connection to the mare, strong and deep. She might be able to reach more species than he could, but she had to work when she wished to form a bond that powerful, and it took time. For him it was instantaneous. She withdrew her magic, not wishing to intrude on them.

After a moment he straightened from his horse. "Yes, that was exactly what I was hoping for," he told Lizzy. "Let me return the goddess here, and I'll show you the brute. He's the one I need your help for." He walked to the gate, Aphrodite following him without prompting. He clipped a lead to her more for show, and bedded her in a stall. Then he moved down a couple doors, making a face when he stopped in front of another stall.

She felt a burst of defiance, and before she could shout a warning a great black and white head lunged from the stall, aimed at Col Fitzwilliam. He had expected it though, and with a deft movement managed to clip a lead to the horse's halter before he could withdraw. Lizzy barely had time to notice a stud chain over the horse's nose, and then Col Fitzwilliam opened the stall door.

The beast burst forward with a triumphant bugle. Lizzy's first impression was of size; he was much larger than Aphrodite, and had approximately ten times the amount of fight. The stallion tried to bite Col Fitzwilliam again, but he snapped the stud chain. She felt a burning across her nose, and the horse threw back his head, half-rearing away from Col Fitzwilliam. The horse danced and threatened Col Fitzwilliam, but somehow they both got to the paddock without harm.

Col Fitzwilliam managed to unclip the lead, and then dodge flying hooves the size of dinner plates that came at his head. The horse thundered to the other end of the paddock and spun to face them, snorting with alarm. Lizzy stared at Col Fitzwilliam as he came to stand next to her. Her own heart was pounding in danger, but he wasn't even breathing hard.

"That is the brute," he said morosely, gesturing toward the stamping stallion. "Not a candle to Aphrodite's beauty, but he has the right sort of mind I was looking for. Not too bright, but stubborn as he--uh, a pig, and loyal once he gets it through his thick skull. Both of them are gypsy bred. Go on, what do you think of him?"

She turned her attention to the horse. He paced the far fence, seeking a way out. She supposed that he wasn't quite as refined as Aphrodite, but she thought Col Fitzwilliam was wrong if she didn't think him beautiful. If the mare was a slimmed draft horse, then this one was the full sized version. He stood easily as tall as Col Fitzwilliam's gelding Cannon, and was much more broad-chested. Perhaps he didn't appear as inherently graceful as Aphrodite, but that was only because his lines were obscured by great, heavy muscle. His legs were thick, built for power over grace, but for all that, he was a stunning creature.

He was also parti-colored, this time black and white, and it made him stand out from the background in stark relief. "He seems very nice," she said absently, but that wasn't the right word for it. He was wild, furious at being taken from his familiar home, and not used to being handled. In a very big way, he reminded her of Fitz the first time she had met him, strong but scared, so unsure of himself. He needed warmth and reassurance, not censure and control. The wrong sort of person could easily break the stallion's spirit, instead of taming him into a useful creature.

She was aware of Col Fitzwilliam watching her silently. She felt as though she were being judged, though it was not as confining as when Mr. Darcy did it. Without thinking she ducked through the fence, slowly walking toward the volatile horse. He turned more frantic, looking for a way out. She stopped when he spun to face her. He flattened his ears and stamped a hoof, but as she did not approach or try to hurt him, his curiosity slowly got the better of him. He stretched out his neck, nostrils flaring for her scent.
Only then did she send out a whisper of her power, not beckoning, just introducing herself. He seemed to consider her for a long moment, then shook his head and breathed out. She carefully turned away from him and joined Col Fitzwilliam on the other side of the fence. She grinned at him. "I think he's alright, just a little scared," she said.

Col Fitzwilliam snorted. "Yes, you are crazy. But you have gotten along better with him than I have managed, so that is a start."

"Why is that?" she wondered curiously. "I mean, with your magic couldn't you have done what I did?"
"I couldÉ" he hedged slowly, "But with my magic, every horse I work with, gets drawn to me. I can't help it. Cannon won't let anyone else mount him, even when I'm there. The army was going to destroy him, until I said I would take him. I could work my magic on him, if I so choseÉ"

"But then he'd bond to you, and not Mr. Darcy."

"Right. And for this to work, the brute has to be able to bond with Darcy. So, no magic. At least not for me. But you--you're different." He grinned at her. Her face turned pink again.

"Your magic, you can affect animals, but you don't make that bond with them like I do. I bet you could, if you wanted to, right?" he asked shrewdly. She nodded. She had bonded closely to animals before. Her dog Penny. The kitten Murray. Perhaps even Matilda the deer, and some of her other wildlife friends back home.

"But for me, I choose it," she said. "You don't?"

He shook his head. "It just happens. I mean, it means I got a really great rapport with any horse I work with. But then, no one else is ever able to get the same level of work out of them that I can. They'll misbehave with anyone else."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Look at him," he gestured toward the stallion, who had lowered his head to crop grass but maintained a wary eye on them. "He's not a bad horse, but he's never been worked with before. I wouldn't trust these boys here not to abuse him. Aunt Catherine doesn't care much for the skill of her stable-hands, and they don't know how to handle a horse his size, or temperament. But he's already responded to you, and you don't have to risk that he'll bond exclusively to you. Would you help him, for Darcy's sake?"

She had begun to give her assent immediately, but paused at his last two words. Mr. Darcy's sake? The horse was intended for Mr. Darcy. Did she really want anything to do with him? No. But she also would not let an animal suffer just for her grievance against its eventual owner.

"What do I do?" she asked steadily.

And so Lizzy embarked on a project with Col Fitzwilliam. In the mornings, instead of walking her usual path, she went right for the stables to work with Thor. Col Fitzwilliam had snorted at her choice of name, even if his own mare was named after a goddess. "You have more say in it than me," he said, throwing up his hands. "But if Darcy complains, I'm telling him it was you."

The first few days were just a matter of getting Thor to trust her. She brought an apple for him the first day, but after reading his reaction, she began bringing carrots instead. He did not care for apples, but could be occasionally bribed with a bit of carrot. After three days of staying in the paddock, he finally allowed Lizzy to start grooming him. Once she was able to get her hands on him, he began to relax and trust her much more. After five days, she was able to lead him about the paddock and was starting to lunge him.

After six days, Mr. Darcy came back.

Both Lizzy and Col Fitzwilliam were in the stable yard. Instead of being with Aphrodite as was his usual, Col Fitzwilliam was taking a moment to speak with Lizzy about Thor's progress, and what he was hoping would happen. Some of the other horses in the stable began to call out. Faintly, they heard an answering whinny. Lizzy and Col Fitzwilliam exchanged a look, and both reached out to the strange horses. Lizzy found them and gave them a friendly welcome. Col Fitzwilliam suddenly grabbed her arm. "I recognize those horses!" he exclaimed with a grin. "Darcy's back!"

He took off running. Lizzy's stomach did a slow flip. Mr. Darcy was back. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. She still didn't want anything to do with him, but she was going to have to do the introductions between Thor and Fitz. She thought about leaving the stable and hiding at Hunsford, but that was cowardly. Besides, Col Fitzwilliam was sure to tell his cousin that she was involved. Perhaps it was best just to face him, and have it done with.

She followed at a more sedate pace. The horses had given them ample warning, and so the carriage was just pulling to a stop when Col Fitzwilliam reached it. The door open, and the tall figure of the werewolf emerged. "Darcy!" Col Fitzwilliam gasped excitedly, practically bouncing on his toes. "You've got to see my filly!" His arm swung back toward the stable. Mr. Darcy glanced up automatically, and saw Lizzy. For one second their eyes met, even across that distance. Each froze in place. Col Fitzwilliam was starting to tell Mr. Darcy about Aphrodite, when the taller man suddenly hit Col Fitzwilliam full in the face.

Col Fitzwilliam simply collapsed on the ground, laying out like a felled tree. "Mr. Darcy!" Lizzy screamed, running toward them. She hurled her magic at Fitz, praying to stop him before he killed Col Fitzwilliam. Mr. Darcy was leaning over him, but at that he stopped, looking up at her. His eyes burned with such anger, but it was not that which brought her to an abrupt halt. It was the hurt, and the betrayal.

"Mr. Darcy?" her voice quavered uncertainly. Her magic reached for Fitz again, not seeking to stop him, but to understand his pain. She wouldn't have thought Mr. Darcy capable of such emotion before. Either the full moon had affected him, or she had badly misjudged him. It was more comfortable thinking the former than the latter.

Meanwhile, Col Fitzwilliam gave a groan and leaned up on his elbow. His nose spewed blood, and might have been broken. He looked around blearily, and saw Mr. Darcy still standing over him. "Darcy, you dunce," he slurred. He aimed a weak kick at the werewolf's ankles. "My filly is in the stables. With the other horses. Your filly is just fine."

Lizzy didn't understand what was being said. Maybe Col Fitzwilliam's mind had been addled by the blow Mr. Darcy had given him. "He didn't get a filly for you," she said hesitantly. "He found a stud."

"And you'll be a gelding if I have anything to say about it. Help me up, idiot," Col Fitzwilliam kicked his cousin again, then flopped down on his back. Lizzy still hesitated. Mr. Darcy's eyes searched hers, but seemed not to find what he was looking for. Col Fitzwilliam kicked his cousin a third time, absently. At this Mr. Darcy finally leaned down and grasped Col Fitzwilliam's arm. Col Fitzwilliam however was completely limp. Not unconscious, just a bit woozy, and unwilling to help.

Mr. Darcy hauled him up by main strength alone. Col Fitzwilliam hung loosely, one arm draped over Mr. Darcy's shoulders while the other dangled. Lizzy moved to help, but Mr. Darcy stiffened. Col Fitzwilliam roused enough to wave her off. "'Sall good, Miss Elizabeth. The dunce can carry me just fine. Go wait with Thor, we'll be by shortly."

She was unsatisfied by this answer, but held back from approaching. Anything to make Fitz calm down, after his unprovoked attack on Col Fitzwilliam. Several footmen stared at the three of them, eyes wide in shock. She had no authority to reassure them, and could only do as Col Fitzwilliam requested. Thor no longer tried to bite everything that passed his stall door. Now she entered his stall, and stood with him for a moment, head pressed to his warm neck. "Mr. Darcy has returned," she whispered to him. "But so far he has behaved very badly. I'm tempted not to give you to him at all." Then she sighed. She wouldn't do that, of course. Not after everything Col Fitzwilliam had gone through to obtain Thor and her help.

The two gentlemen returned scarcely a quarter of an hour later. Col Fitzwilliam was standing on his own, though his nose was noticeably swollen, and bruises were already forming around his eyes. "This is my filly," Col Fitzwilliam said bitingly, pausing at Aphrodite's stall. The chestnut mare pinned her ears back at the werewolf, the whites of her eyes showing in panic. Col Fitzwilliam hurriedly moved them away before Aphrodite started to throw a fit.

"And here are yours, perfectly safe, I might add," he said, gesturing toward Thor and Lizzy. She wondered why Col Fitzwilliam was acting so peculiarly. Then again, she too would be annoyed if someone had punched her in the nose upon first arrival. Then again, she was annoyed with Mr. Darcy. His actions had been disgraceful, after Col Fitzwilliam had gone through such pains for him. Thor pinned his ears at the unfamiliar scent of the new man, and shifted his weight. He edged slightly between Lizzy and Mr. Darcy.

Wolf, the horse said, but instead of fear there was challenge in his mind. Aphrodite would run from what frightened her. Thor was more likely to trample it into tiny flat bits. Lizzy put a hand on his shoulder, hastily calming herself. She couldn't afford to let her dislike of Mr. Darcy affect Thor, not when this first meeting was so crucial.

Not bad wolf, she told the stallion. She put aside her anger at Mr. Darcy, and focused instead on the things she liked about Fitz. His friendliness. His protective instinct. His gentleness with her. The way he always seemed to be there for her. Thor shuffled his hooves restlessly. His instincts warned him about the dangerous predator, but she was countermanding them with her magic and reassurance. Col Fitzwilliam nudged Mr. Darcy. "Go on, offer it to him."

Mr. Darcy slowly extended his hand toward Thor, holding a small apple. Thor was not impressed. Lizzy rolled her eyes. "Colonel, you know he doesn't like apples!"

Mr. Darcy shot Col Fitzwilliam a glance, which Col Fitzwilliam returned in kind. She stepped forward, taking the apple and replacing it with a carrot from her own pocket. Thor was slightly more interested. He took a small step forward, head stretched out as far as he would go. Lizzy walked with him, gently urging him onward. Finally Thor moved enough to take the carrot. He lipped the treat up eagerly, his strong teeth crunching noisily. Mr. Darcy's hand turned, and delicately stroked Thor's soft muzzle. The big horse froze, his nostrils flaring as he took in the scent.

Wolf, he said again, but this time it was with more resignation. Col Fitzwilliam broke into a grin, and Lizzy sighed in relief. She nodded to Mr. Darcy. "I think it's going to be alright," she said. They left Thor alone, not wishing to press him too hard the first day.

The two gentlemen walked her back to Hunsford, one on either side of her.

"So how was Pemberley?" Col Fitzwilliam asked goadingly. "Lots of room to run?"

She realized he was asking how Mr. Darcy's full moon had gone. She listened eagerly, curious despite herself.

"I was in London," Mr. Darcy answered him.

"London?" Col Fitzwilliam frowned. "What could possibly be there for you? I'd have thought Pemberley to be safer for you."

"It is, but certain things could not be avoided. Charles has a cage in the basement of his practice that is convenient."

Lizzy stopped walking, causing the gentlemen to face her. "Cage?" she repeated, staring at Mr. Darcy. She searched him with her magic, seeking confirmation with Fitz. Was he still caging himself at the full moon, despite how painful it was for him? Did that mean he had even less control over his wolf than she'd thought? She found it was unusually hard for her to read Fitz. Without thinking she stepped forward and placed her hand on Mr. Darcy's arm. Instantly she felt a connection with Fitz. Yes, she could feel that lingering frustration of being caged in the wolf, but it was more of a mild discomfort than the torture it had been. Mr. Darcy had indulged his wolf after the full moon was past, going for long runs to appease him.

"I don't understand," she frowned. "Why would you do that?" Why cage himself on the freest nights of the months, yet allow himself to run wildly once they were gone?

"Do what?" Col Fitzwilliam wanted to know. He frowned at them, clearly not understanding. She was struck by the sudden understanding that thought Col Fitzwilliam knew his cousin was a werewolf, he didn't know what it was like. Either Mr. Darcy had not told him, or was unable to explain what it was to be one. She opened her mouth to explain, but Mr. Darcy suddenly jerked away from her, and the connection to Fitz was severed.

She blinked in abrupt shock. That had never happened before. She could hardly sense Fitz now. It wasn't like when he touched silver, or when he was hiding in order to surprise her. Instead that strange, alien thing was covering him, intertwined so strongly it was blocking her magic. She wasn't sure why he would do that to her. She didn't even know what it was. Was it hurting Fitz? Was it some sickness common only to werewolves? She desperately needed reassurance from Fitz, but none was forth coming.

Mr. Darcy continued walking as though nothing had happened. Lizzy had no choice but to keep up, though she was deeply troubled. Col Fitzwilliam trailed after them, giving each one thoughtful looks. At the gates of Hunsford they stopped. The awkwardness of the moment was accentuated by the way Col Fitzwilliam kept nudging Mr. Darcy, clearly urging him forward. Finally he moved, stepping forward and clearing his throat.

"Miss Elizabeth," he began hesitantly. "That is, I'd like to extend an invitation to the Collins' to dine at Rosings Park tonight."

She arched an eyebrow. Col Fitzwilliam sighed dramatically.

"And yourself, of course," he added quickly. Lizzy was charmed to see a blush rising along his cheeks. Imperious, dour Mr. Darcy, disconcerted. That was something she didn't get to see often.

"I shall convey your invitation to my cousin and his wife," she said, and left them at the gate. She liked to think her answer might have thrown Mr. Darcy further off balance. He clearly did not wish to extend the invitation. It was only with Col Fitzwilliam's firm urging that he had done so at all. She had no doubt that once she told Mr. Collins, there would be no question of not being there, but in the meanwhile she hoped her undefined answer gave him pause. She would be civil with him when she was introducing him to Thor, but she did not have to like him.

Mr. Collins was overjoyed to have received the invitation, and when the hour drew near, Lizzy found herself once more at Rosings Park. She was tempted to claim indisposition again, but Mr. Collins looked so fierce about it that she didn't even bother. At least she would have Col Fitzwilliam to converse with. That was what she was hoping, but when they were shown into the parlor, Col Fitzwilliam was missing. Instead of looking forward to decent conversation, no sooner had she sat down, than Mr. Darcy took up a post near her.

She gave him a glare, then attempted to look interested elsewhere. Unfortunately, the only other conversation in the room was Lady Catherine expounding her vast knowledge of bee keeping. Among people of intelligence, the subject would have held Lizzy's attention. From Lady Catherine's lips, it was a different matter altogether.

"Where is Col Fitzwilliam?" she asked, sighing as she finally turned to face Mr. Darcy. He seemed taken aback by the question.

"He was indisposed," he replied shortly.

She gave him a brittle smile. "No doubt from your tender administrations."

He scowled. "That was an accident. A misunderstanding. Richard knows I did not mean it."

"You mean your fist just accidentally landed on his nose? A mere misunderstanding? I'm so glad that's completely cleared up!"

"It is a matter between Richard and myself."

She snorted. If Mr. Darcy was any more stiff, he would be in serious danger of becoming a tree. Automatically she reached for Fitz, only to feel that he was still encased in that strange covering. She stifled an exclamation. "What on earth is wrong with your--" she stopped a swallowed, paling as she realized how close of a slip she had come to. "Your cousin's dog?" she amended quickly. He arched his eyebrow at her, and her face heated. She was not good at subterfuge. She could have given him away in that moment, had anyone been listening.

And because the fates were against her that night, Lady Catherine began demanding to know what they could possibly be speaking about. Lady Catherine's face when she looked at Mr. Darcy had an almost vulture expression of greed. When she glanced at Lizzy, her face looked more like a headsman's ax. Mr. Darcy appeared not to notice. He retreated from Lizzy, stiff and angry from her accidental slip.

"We were discussing why Richard could not attend this evening," he said curtly.

At this Lady Catherine made a noise that in a less dignified person would have been a snort. "That foolish boy! He is a shame to the Fitzwilliam name. Imagine him to be so clumsy, as to be harmed by one of those dreadful beasts he is always around."

"Quite right, Lady Catherine," echoed Mr. Collins. "The Colonel hides the blood that he shares with you, disgracing himself--"

"In fact, one of the footmen had the gall to bring me a false report. He said that you had struck that Fitzwilliam boy! The nerve of him, telling tales, to me no less! I quite abhor deceptions of any kind. I dismissed the footman at once, without a character! He'll not find work around here, everyone knows that he is a scoundrel and a liar."

"Absolutely right," Mr. Collins agreed emphatically. "You cannot have servants that would bear false witness. Such does not deserve--"

"But he was telling the truth!" Lizzy exclaimed. She could not believe Lady Catherine could be so blind. The poor boy! To be summarily dismissed, and without a character to recommend him to further employers? He would starve before he found work. It was a punishment far beyond the imagined crime.

"I expect those of weak minds to never question what they are told," Lady Catherine sniffed. "But to tell such a falsehood, and against my own nephew! Why, Darcy has never lifted his hand against another. I will not hear a word said against him! If I ever see that foul menace again, I shall have him beaten."

Lizzy was speechless. She turned to Mr. Darcy for confirmation. Surely he would not allow such slander to continue against an innocent servant? Instead, he inclined his head toward his aunt. "Such is your prerogative, Aunt. I hope he does not cross your path again, for his sake."

Lady Catherine was verified in her actions, and held her head exceedingly high. Mr. Collins next to her bobbed his head quickly, conveying his complete support. Charlotte looked uneasily between Lizzy, Mr. Darcy and Lady Catherine.

Lizzy felt something burst inside her. She saw red. Her fingers clenched so hard they ached. She wanted to fly at Mr. Darcy, to scream at him. How could he be so callous, so cruel? It was in his power to set things right, and yet he stood there mutely. Dimly she was aware of Charlotte's look of concern. Charlotte asked her a question, but she didn't hear it. Fury pounded through her, making it hard to breathe. She felt if she did not do something, that moment, she would explode.

She rose from her seat, her entire being focused on Mr. Darcy. He would pay for what he had done to an innocent boy, and confess the truth. She didn't know how she could force him, who was many times her strength, but by God she would find a way. And then the mask-covering over Fitz shifted. Suddenly she could feel him clearly, for the first time since Mr. Darcy had returned. And he too was angry. He growled at her, vicious and loud enough to drown out the thrumming of her heart.

She jumped, so badly startled that she was instantly the center of attention of everyone in the room. She realized she only heard the growl through her magic when no one else commented on it. She locked eyes with Mr. Darcy, demanding, pleading. He remained hard and unmoved. Fitz growled again, another warning, and abruptly turned away in dismissal.

"I say, what has gotten into you, child?" Lady Catherine demanded. "That is the problem with girls in the present age. They are all prone to fits of fancy, and not respectful of their elders."

"She has always lacked the proper respect," Mr. Collins repeated rapidly. "She is very much the bane of her mother, a woman whose--"

Lizzy didn't want to hear what Mr. Collins thought of her mother. Tears sprang to her eyes, though she cared not a whit what anyone in the room thought of her. The sudden set-down from Lady Catherine and Mr. Collins was not unexpected, but Fitz's defection was, and felt much keener. She had thought Mr. Darcy proud, but ultimately a man of principle. Now she saw how wrong she was. Mr. Wickham's claims seemed greater than ever. Mr. Darcy was condemning a man for telling the truth, just to save his own standing before his family.

She felt sick to her stomach, and wished to run away. She heard a dull rushing in her ears, and her face felt magnificently red. Charlotte rose and took her arm, leading her to sit again. She sat, but she brushed off her friend. She could not stand to be in this house of lies. She was determined to never come here again. She was more grateful than ever that she had held to her principles, and not married Mr. Collins. She would have never lasted long here, seeing such injustice that was commonplace.

Lady Catherine was recommending some kind of tea with honey to soothe her nerves, but Lizzy didn't listen. Dinner was announced, and they moved rooms calmly. Lady Catherine maneuvered Mr. Darcy into escorting her into the dinner hall, and so Lizzy was spared from having to refuse his arm. The bright gleam from many silver utensils made her recoil. No, she would not spend another dinner listening to Fitz's agony. He might deserve it, but she did not. She did something she had never done before. She withdrew her magic.

Mr. Bennet had insisted she learn when she was very young, but she had never done it once she had mastered it to his satisfaction. Her magic had always been a sort of cloud around her, nebulous but present. She could stretch it out when she needed, when she was looking for something, but normally it was just part of her. Now she condensed that cloud, pulling it in to the level of her skin. It felt as though she suddenly had a bad head cold, with the pressure of keeping her magic contained.

It was like wool had been stuffed in her ears, and she suddenly needed glasses to see clearly. Her sense of smell was absolutely deadened, and food had no taste in her mouth. Her fingers felt stiff and swollen, unresponsive and clumsy. She had forgotten how much her magic augmented her regular senses. It wasn't as though she was crippled without it, or that she had super-human faculties when it was unbound, but it was such a daily part of her life that she wanted to cry without it.

There was no friendly sense of mice in the walls, or the cats roaming the hallways. She could no longer hear the horses calling to each other in the stable. She didn't feel the potted plants in the corner. She missed the song of green growing things. It was always so close to her skin, but now was absent. She didn't realize how much information she gleaned from the natural state of her magic. But best of all, she could no longer feel a certain treacherous werewolf, or the burn as he touched silver.

She was unable to attend to the conversation around her. It took all of her attention to hold her magic at bay. She was unused to the exercise, and already it was a strain on her. No doubt the talk was the same as it ever was, Lady Catherine speaking, Mr. Collins agreeing, everyone else struggling to hear themselves think. She had no idea what was placed in front of her. She barely ate anything at all, leading to the further assumption that she was ill. She remembered Mr. Darcy attempting to speak with her once, because she heard his voice. A red rage took her, and she clenched her silver knife, trying not to give in to the temptation to jab it in his hand.

Eventually, Lady Catherine claimed she was worried over Anne's health, and so Lizzy and the Collins' were dismissed quicker than ever before. She had never been so grateful. She held onto her magic until she exited the house, and then it burst from her like a dam giving way. It seemed to her that she was more sensitive than usual, that her range was further, everything painfully sharp. It was probably only a side effect of holding back her magic so long, she thought. It was enough to give her a genuine headache, and she made no complaint when Mr. Collins ordered her off to bed like Lady Catherine recommended.

In the morning, Lizzy woke with her headache gone and her senses returned to normal. She also woke with determination. She wanted to find the footman that had been dismissed. She didn't know what she could do for him. It wasn't as though she had money or could offer him a position at Longbourn. Longbourn had Mrs. Hill, a single maid, and two field hands. Sometimes it was a struggle just to afford those. But she still wanted to tell the man that she knew the truth, and she believed him. It wasn't much, but it was the most she could offer.

At the gates of Hunsford, however, someone was already waiting for her.

Chapter Twenty

She turned her face away from Fitz. "I'm not talking to you," she said flatly. Normally she wouldn't have taken her ire on Mr. Darcy out on the wolf, but he had been with Mr. Darcy last night. He had growled at her to make her silent. She didn't know if she was more miffed that he had done it, or that it had worked.

Fitz whined and nosed her hand. She jerked away from him, her eyes flashing. "I'm serious! Go away!" When he tried to take a step toward her, she lashed out. Fitz leapt away, too nimble to be hit, and her fists flew through the empty air. He gave her an astonished look. She grimaced at him, her lips pulled back from her teeth. It wasn't nearly as frightening as he could do, or even Mr. Darcy, but when she advanced on him, he retreated. Very shortly he turned tail and ran. She watched him go, breathing heavily through her nose.

That had felt good. She had confronted her enemy, and driven him away. No, she would not fear a deadly werewolf! It occurred to her that she had been extremely foolhardy. She weighed little more than half of what Fitz did. If he had wanted to, he could have stopped her. Could have killed her frankly. Despite her enmity, she never once feared being hurt by him. She shook her head, wondering how she could know that. Did it even matter?

She pushed the matter aside, and set her feet on the previous morning walk, neglected this last week. She had just reached the middle point, when her magic informed her of a horse approaching. She didn't have to reach to know who it was. She smiled wanly at Col Fitzwilliam as he dismounted Cannon and walked beside her.

"Missed you this morning," he said casually. "Now that Darcy's back, I thought we'd try to introduce him to Thor, go on some walks, things like that."

He was acting as though nothing was wrong. She had no doubt that Fitz must have run to him at once. Perhaps Mr. Darcy had even stopped to change, to be able to speak to his cousin. She appreciated Col Fitzwilliam's effort to appear normal, but she couldn't keep up the farce.

"I can't do it," she said quietly. She owed him honesty. He fell silent, instantly becoming sober.

"May I ask why?" he asked softly. His tone was concerned, not accusatory, but her stomach still twisted in guilt. She didn't answer at first. She wasn't sure she could. Col Fitzwilliam was her friend, but Mr. Darcy was his cousin. No matter how much her sisters might get on her nerves, they were still blood. That was a bond stronger than anything, and she would gladly set dogs and other animals against any who naysaid her family.

"Please, Lizzy," Col Fitzwilliam said, taking her hand. "I thought we were friends."

She stifled a sob, and took a deep breath to steady herself. Col Fitzwilliam wore her down, and haltingly, she told him about dinner last night. He listened to her, making no comment beyond a deep sigh when she was done. His thumb absently rubbed over her hand. It felt nice, but she realized in that moment that it only felt nice. It didn't leave her giddy or breathless, didn't make her heart skip a beat. No matter how nice Col Fitzwilliam was, kind and non-judgmental, unlike his cousin, she wasn't in love with him, and she never would be. They were just very good friends.

"I'm sorry, Lizzy," he spoke at last. "I know I shouldn't be the oneÉ" he sighed again. "My aunt can beÉ overbearing. Blast it, why mince words? She's a nightmare. She's a vindictive, mean old hag!" His head shot up on his last shouted word, like a startled horse.

Lizzy giggled, half in shock and half because of his actions. They both looked around somewhat guiltily, afraid of being overheard. They were alone. Col Fitzwilliam ran his hand through his hair. "The truth is, ever since we were young boys, Darcy has always been the golden boy. He could do no wrong, and our aunt would not hear of it. She has always been strictly domineering. I don't think she has ever forgiven him for not falling under her thumb when he became master of Pemberley. And I don't think she knows how little she controls him either. You and I know how wrong she was against that footman, and Darcy does too. But believe me, it's better not to fight her on it. If you try to confront her, she just gets more riled up. This way, if she believes the matter beneath her, she will soon forget it altogether.

"Should Darcy, since he is the only one who could, force the issue, it just guarantees that she will be the more cruel when his back is turned. Aunt Catherine believes Darcy visits every year out of familial obligation. The truth isÉ" he paused and gave her a sideways look, "You won't repeat this, it would be crippling if it got out."

"Of course not," she agreed quickly, squeezing his hand.

He nodded, and dropped his voice. "Darcy visits because he manages half of Rosings Park. Aunt Catherine has not a clue what she's doing, and if not for Darcy, then it would have collapsed years ago. He checks on the tenants, and advises Aunt's steward. He's too kind to let everything go to ruin. A lot of people make their livings on Rosings Park, and he doesn't want them to suffer."

Lizzy struggled to reconcile this view of Mr. Darcy with what she knew of him. He was arrogant, proud, unfeeling of those below his station. He had insulted her from the beginning. And what of his treatment of Mr. Wickham? What about his sister? Was she as proud and cold as Mr. Wickham intimated? Had Mr. Darcy raised his hand against his blood as was claimed? She could believe it about the cold, cruel man from last night. She couldn't believe it about one who would take the time and effort to tend to an estate not his own, in the face of such an overbearing woman such as Lady Catherine. And what about Anne? Was Mr. Darcy truly engaged to her? If so, then overseeing Rosings Park made perfect sense.

She couldn't help but to notice, though, that Mr. Darcy barely paid any attention to his intended. He was focused on Lizzy more often than Anne! Lady Catherine took pains to redirect his attention toward Anne, but he scarcely heeded her. Nor was the engagement ever spoken of. In fact, the only time it had been discussed was when Mr. Darcy was not in the room. She could only conclude that either the engagement was not as real as Lady Catherine, Anne, and Mr. Collins supposed, or it was perfectly real--but Mr. Darcy's feelings toward it had shifted since his change last year. She puzzled through the magnifications of such a state, but was left with more questions than answers. They were questions that did not pertain to her; this was an inside family business, and Col Fitzwilliam had already confided more in her than many would deem wise.

She was honored by his confidence, and did her best to reason through the explanations he had given. "You meanÉ" she said slowly, "Mr. Darcy was protecting the footman when he refused to speak up?"

Col Fitzwilliam let out a breath of relief, and nodded. "In the only way he could. He is not a cruel man. He is very protective of his friends, even before he wasÉ what he is. If anything, he has just become more prone to looking out for everyone he can, after his change. Pack instinct, I guess."

Lizzy had felt that for herself, the way Fitz could be inspired to irrational heights in his quest to protect her. It made her wonder again how much the wolf resembled the man. From what she knew of Mr. Darcy, she would not have credited him for half of Col Fitzwilliam had told her. But according to Col Fitzwilliam, whom she trusted to be honest, Mr. Darcy had always been one to watch out for his acquaintances. Fitz just seemed to take that to a whole new level. With teeth. Furthermore, every animal she had ever dealt with was direct to a fault. Without Mr. Darcy's influence, would Fitz have realized that the supposed best way to protect the poor innocent footman was to remain silent?

Col Fitzwilliam sighed after a long moment. "It is a shameÉ" he murmured absently.

"Shame?" she prompted. Her head was reeling with everything she had learned. She was trying to find it in her to forgive Mr. Darcy. More importantly, she was trying to reconcile Fitz's strange behavior as well. She realized that he had always been a friend to her. It was a shock that he had suddenly taken opposition to her stance.

"Darcy always used to love to ride," Col Fitzwilliam reminisced. "Pemberley is known to have some of the best stables. "I remember being a boy on holiday at Pemberley, having races with Darcy. He quickly learned not to let me pick my own mount." He chuckled, then broke off into a shudder. "You didn't see him this summer, right before and after his first change. He was broken. Utterly broken. You hear people say that all the time, but they don't know what it means. It was like his soul had been torn out. I have never seen a man so dismal. My cousin has always been a strong man. Proud, yes, but strong. He had the responsibility of many on his shoulders, but this summerÉ I hunted for Darcy's murderer, because it was clear the man I had known did not survive."

She was rapt. It was the same when Mr. Bingley had spoken of Mr. Darcy, and the other werewolves he had studied. As little as she might like the man, she found the stories of him fascinating. And Col Fitzwilliam was his family, had known him as a boy. It was a new perspective she'd never had access to.

"When I saw him again, this winterÉ" he broke off with a muffled sob, and quickly passed his hand over his face. "My God, the changes in him! The next time I saw him I thought I'd have to put him down. To see him smile, laugh again, play with Georgiana! I can't begin to tell you what it was like. Have you ever had a relative so close to death, you called in a preacher? And then they got better again?"

When she was thirteen, and Jane just fifteen, she had done just that. Jane had fallen into one of her weather-illnesses, and was in a coma for weeks. Nothing had helped, not the apothecary, or Lizzy's herbs, or the doctor or prayer. She had been so furious at God, for daring to do take away her favorite sister. Mrs. Bennet had taken to her bed with nerves. Mary began practicing funeral dirges. Even Lydia and Kitty were subdued.

Mr. Bennet tended his eldest daughter lovingly, his face growing gaunt and shadowed. Then finally, like some miracle, the fever had broken and Jane began to rouse. Her recovery had taken the better part of a year, and each time she fell sick they still feared a relapse. What would have happened if Jane had never woken? She remembered the constant fear and grief, the narrow misses with death, the dread of leaving, the worse dread of returning home.

Col Fitzwilliam kept speaking, not waiting for a response. "It was like that. I really did not expect DarcyÉ But he was almost normal again. Just about the only thing he still can't do is ride a horse." He sighed. "Perhaps it was not meant to be. You can't go back to before. If you ask, I'm sure he'd probably give Thor to you. You're already fond of him."

"I'll do it," she said quietly. Thinking about her dear Jane so deathly ill, and then imagining what it was like for Mr. Darcy's family to face the same, she couldn't help but to be slightly sympathetic. No, a lot sympathetic. Mr. Bingley had spoken of the same thing, but not in as many words. For some reason it touched her more coming from Col Fitzwilliam. She did not like Mr. Darcy. She could not agree with him. But she felt perhaps a modicum of respect. Enough to take on the task of accustoming Thor to Fitz. She would do this last thing for him, and then she would be quit. Mr. Darcy moved in different circles than her. She would never see him again. This was the last favor she would pay the werewolf.

Col Fitzwilliam nodded glumly. "At least someone will be able to enjoy that brute. I still recommend you geld him. A good stallion makes a great gelding. Unless you intend to breed him for your home stock."

She stopped walking a put a hand on his arm. "Col Fitzwilliam," she said, "I meant I'd help Mr. Darcy. I'll do it."

He looked at her, and broke into a broad grin. "Really, Miss Elizabeth? You're the best!"

She snorted. "Like it wasn't your aim all along to come here and convince me."

"WellÉ" he hedged. "Look, would it make you feel better if I tried to find the footman, and see what became of him?"

She nodded. "Thank you, Col Fitzwilliam. What do you want me to do?"

"We still have a bit of time before Aunt really expects us. If you get Thor, and I'll get Darcy, we can see how far we can push the two along. Not in the stable yard, I think, don't want to cause a panic. But there are some riding paths through Rosings Park we can take. I'll bring Cannon, having another horse along might help Thor," he spoke excitedly. She nodded, and they made plans to meet up along one of the paths. Col Fitzwilliam mounted Cannon, and rode off. Lizzy changed her course to take her directly to the stables. No time like the present to start.

The first few days were the most ticklish. Fitz appeared while Lizzy was walking Thor along the riding paths. The big horse snorted and danced, but between Cannon's calm and Lizzy reassurances, gradually began to realize the wolf wouldn't harm him. Over time, Fitz was able to move closer. Thor accepted the wolf when he walked on her other side, and then eventually right next to the horse. When Thor no longer started when Fitz appeared, and ignored him when the wolf circled him, Col Fitzwilliam said they were ready for the next step.

The first time Mr. Darcy took Fitz's place to escort her to the stables in the morning, she was taken aback. She had grown used to Fitz, even looked forward to meeting him every morning, but Mr. Darcy was another matter. He gave her a curt bow, and she curtsied in response. No word was said as they simultaneously turned toward the stable path. He offered her his arm. She pretended she didn't see it, and he took her hand to place on his arm. She gritted her teeth and smiled tightly at him. Within Mr. Darcy, Fitz seemed unusually happy that morning. She wondered why, but didn't ask. That would mean conversation with Mr. Darcy, and she was not ready for that.

She was still uncomfortable with the way he had not defended the footman to his aunt. She understood Col Fitzwilliam's explanation, but she still wished Mr. Darcy had taken the time to assure her himself. It wasn't that she wanted or needed the reassurance from him, but he could have taken responsibility for his own actions. The most Col Fitzwilliam had been able to find was that the footman had managed to find employment again, even without a writ of character.

Lizzy retrieved Thor from the stables, and the kit of grooming brushes. As usual, they met at the furthest paddock, where Col Fitzwilliam, Cannon, and Mr. Darcy were already waiting. Thor's head rose as he noticed the new man. The horse was always suspicious of new people, which was why only Lizzy and Col Fitzwilliam had been allowed near him before. However, the familiar scent of the wolf which clung to Mr. Darcy actually reassured Thor, and he relaxed.

Lizzy reluctantly handed the lead to Mr. Darcy. He led Thor in a small circle, to see if the stallion would accept him. Thor's ears flicked back and forth, but he was willing to go. Mr. Darcy tied him loosely to the fence, slipped him a carrot, and then picked up the curry comb. It was hard for Lizzy to stand back and watch someone else tend to what had effectively become her horse.

She hadn't realized how attached she had become to Thor, but she had seen him transform from a near-wild creature to one that was surprisingly tame. He remained slightly apprehensive, but Mr. Darcy moved calmly and gently. Lizzy was surprised to see how easy Mr. Darcy was around the horse. He didn't have the instinctive magical connection that she and Col Fitzwilliam had, but he was clearly experienced and confident. He was every bit as good a horseman as Col Fitzwilliam had said.

Seeing that, something in her relaxed. Despite Fitz's calm, almost playful state during their sessions, in the back of her head she had constantly worried that Fitz might revert to his natural instincts, that horses were only prey animals and nothing more. Now, watching Mr. Darcy take the time to reassure Thor and build confidence in him, she knew it would never happen. He was not playing with his food, but bonding with a partner that would be with him for many years. The last of her anxieties died quietly. Thor gave a huge sigh, and draped his head over Mr. Darcy's arm. Like that, she felt the stallion's trust fall into place.

Mr. Darcy froze for an instant, then slowly stroked the broad, proud forehead. She didn't know what he felt, but Fitz was full of wonder and excitement. There was no reason for her to be here any longer. Col Fitzwilliam knew more about training horses than she, and would be able to instruct his cousin on anything he needed. In fact, on her observation of Mr. Darcy, she wouldn't be surprised if he already knew everything that was required. Now that the major hurdle of getting a horse to accept and trust a werewolf was past, her part in it was done.

She should have felt relieved that she would no longer required to be in Mr. Darcy's company daily. Instead she felt strangely melancholy. She was just sad over leaving Thor, she told herself. It would be a shame not to see him backed for the first time. She bet he would move beautifully under saddle, and Mr. Darcy would cut a very handsome figure on his backÉ But it was for the better that the breakthrough had occurred. She was due to leave Hunsford in just two days. She was filled with a sudden homesickness, thinking of her family, her garden, her father's library, her familiar paths, Oakham Mount, Matilda and Murray. She wanted to go home. She was ready for it.

"Miss Elizabeth?"

Everyone was staring at her. The two horses and Fitz were highly aware of her agitation. She sniffed, and realized that her face was damp with tears. She reached for her handkerchief, but Mr. Darcy was faster. He did not offer her his own, but instead stepped close to her and tenderly brushed her cheeks. Her startled eyes flew to his, and was shocked to see such warmth. Mr. Darcy didn't move, but she felt as though she was surrounded by Fitz, that he gave her every assurance ofÉ it wasn't just protection, but something else she couldn't name, flowing from the wolf.

She stepped back, not wanting to leave Fitz, but needing distance from Mr. Darcy. "I am fine," she said quickly. "I was just thinking of how much I have missed Longbourn. It will be good to return there." And away from werewolves she was growing too dependent on.

The next night they were invited to dine at Rosings Park for the last time. Lizzy begged not to go on the claim of being ill. Mr. Collins protested vigorously, stating that she was doing a disservice to her name, to himself, most of all to Lady Catherine for declining the farewell dinner. She argued with him so much as to almost cause herself actual illness. In the end, it was Charlotte who pointed out the lateness of the hour, and Mr. Collins washed his hands of her in a great huff.

Lizzy was glad to have escaped the stifling air of dinner at Rosings Park for the last time. She didn't feel like sitting through another dinner in which Fitz was subjected to deadly silver, or pulling back her senses to allow her to ignore his discomfort. Even less did she dare face Lady Catherine, author of such cruel management of her estate. She feared if she had to face that harridan, she might just retaliate against her. She had so far been able to avoid a direct confrontation, through the strict management of her temper. If she could just make it through one more day of not seeing Lady Catherine, then she would be able to return home to Longbourn with a clear conscious.

As she was leaving on the morrow, she took the time alone to once more check that her belongings were packed, and that nothing had been left behind. She left out only the dress she would wear for her journey. She made sure Mr. Darcy's book was on the table where it would easily be seen. She had finished it long ago, but had neglected to return it so she could read over her favorite parts. She had penned a short note of gratitude and slipped it under the cover. She had taken leave of the gentlemen that morning, after their session with Thor.

She hadn't been needed, but she had gone anyway to say goodbye to Thor. She knew the gentlemen had expected her that night at dinner, but Col Fitzwilliam at least would know why she couldn't bear to be under the same roof as Lady Catherine. There truly was nothing left for her to do. She was contemplating getting ready for bed early, when a thrill of excitement traveled down her spine. Her breath caught in her throat.

Fitz was nearby. He was nervous, but eager and happy as well. She rose for the door automatically, but paused when there was a firm knock. Was Col Fitzwilliam with Fitz? She tried to borrow the wolf's senses, but he was too keyed up to respond to her. She had time to compose herself, though the person at the door knocked again before she opened it. She directed her eyes towards Fitz, only to see Mr. Darcy's hips.

She quickly jerked her gaze upwards, mortified to be caught staring. She met his intense, burning glare. His eyes blazed with something she might have called fury, if Fitz was not so elated. He stepped in without waiting for an invitation, staring for so long she felt as though she must have spots on her face.

He looked away abruptly, and began pacing in an agitated matter. At one point he faced her, and seemed about to speak, but quickly went back to pacing. She felt very impatient. She might have thought something was wrong, that he had come to fetch help, but there was nothing in his manner to suggest such. Fitz was excited, not panicked.

She was on the point of demanding an explanation when he whirled toward her. He crossed the distance to her in quick hard strides, acting as though he wouldn't stop until he'd run her over. He came to an abrupt halt, far too close. She tilted her head back to be able to peer at him. For some reason she felt as though she were offering her neck for the slaughter.

She felt a great surge in Fitz's feelings. Mr. Darcy sucked in a breath through his nose, inhaling her scent. "I have struggled, but in vain," he said quickly. "It will no longer to do keep quiet. You must let me tell you how ardently I love and admire you."

What? She could only gape at him. She had the urge to shake her head and clean out her ears. Surely she couldn't have heard right! Mr. Darcy exhaled as though a great weight had lifted from his shoulders. He walked away, moving with more fluidity now. Fitz was close to the surface. He faced her again, only a few steps away.

"From the first I have admired you," he said in that same, husky voice. "It has been against my will to accept it, against my reason and even against my character, but I cannot fight it any longer. I have been at pains to distract myself from being drawn to you, but it is all for naught. It is true that your station in life is not what I would expect to partner myself with, nor can your family in any term be considered desirable, but I no longer care.

"You have tamed me. I was a wild beast, and you soothed me with your magic, until I was a new creature. You alone have never feared me in either of my forms. Just the fact that you know my secret means that I can relax and be with you however I choose. Your magic has made me safe to be around, and I know I can count on you to continue to provide your assistance. It will be no hardship for you to tend to my wolf form. My family expects me to marry for the advancement of wealth and connections, which you do not provide, yet I have found that you are the only person which can listen to me with intelligence. I know that my privileges and responsibilities are not what you have been used to, but I trust that you will adjust to them in time. I do not need to expand what I already have, save for Georgiana's sake. Even that I am willing to overlook, in order to acquire you. Say you will marry me."

Silence fell, absolutely deafening. Mr. Darcy's eyes shone, with love? He waited expectantly for her. Her heart pounded in her ears, causing a fierce headache to start between her eyes. She had never been so insulted in her life! She supposed it should have been a great privilege to be proposed to by Mr. Darcy, but all she could think was about all the things he was forgoing to make an offer for her. Oh yes, his hardships were great indeed!

She swallowed, and struggled to keep her voice even. Fury coursed through her veins, but she fought to hold it at bay. If she lost her temper, she would bring the house down around his ears. She would strangle him, werewolf strength or no. Somehow Fitz's hope, filling the space between them, made it worse.

"I believe," she said, trembling only a little, "That the usual mode is to express gratitude for the sentiments expressed. However, I did not mean to cause pain to anyone. I am sure that the feelings which have prevented you from acting earlier will quickly help you get over whatever attachment you might feel." There, that was adequate. Cool and dispassionate, not the screaming invectives she wished to hurl at him.

Doubt and disbelief cracked into Fitz, followed by mortification and horror. Mr. Darcy paled. "That is the response I am to expect?" he said harshly.

"Yes," she whispered, unable to speak louder for fear of losing all rationality.

He nodded curtly to her, and strode for the door. He stopped after only a couple steps, facing her again. "Why?" he demanded.

Her back stiffened in incredulity. "You must ask that? When you express to me that you have loved me against your will, reason and character? You insult my family and my status in one breath, openly declare that I have not enough wealth, connections, or knowledge to suit you, yet you will take me anyway? Like a dog begging for scraps? You claim to value my intelligence, but in the very next sentence speak that I cannot deal with your responsibilities? You speak of your own feelings, yet you might have first consulted mine!" Her hard won control began to slip. Anger now slipped into Fitz's mind, as Mr. Darcy paled further.

"I see I have offended you," he said curtly. "Perhaps if I had not spoken of my objections to a match with you, you might have accepted me, but because I valued honesty, your sentiments would have been wounded. You know I spoke the truth. The lack of propriety shown by your younger sisters, your mother, even your father is a very great disadvantage to yourself and anyone connected to you. Even you have flown in the face of all that is proper, when you sought me out during the full moon last fall. I was willing to overlook that for the assistance you gave me, but I see now you will not quit!"

"You mistake me, sir!" she snarled viciously at him. Dammit, why did Fitz have to be so alert and near at this moment? He broadcasted everything he felt straight to her mind, and made everything worse. She never meant to hurt him, but he was too wrapped in Mr. Darcy to realize it was only the man she was furious with. "Had you acted in a more gentlemanly way in your offer then I would have replied more civility."

He started in surprise, but she would not let him speak.

"As it is the manner of your actions have freed me from the guilt of any pain I might cause you by my just rejection. There is no way you could have represented yourself to me to make me accept. Indeed, I had not known you long but to know you were the last man on earth I could ever marry! From the first of your acquaintance I have been convinced of your arrogance, your conceit, your disdain for any creature you think below you. Do you think I would wish a husband who is as a dog, and who would wish me to fetch for him!" It wasn't what she meant, but she couldn't stop herself. She didn't mind Fitz. She appreciated him a lot more than Mr. Darcy, but they both had to understand that she could never love the wolf. He wasn't human. Just an animal.

"It was not just your manner of approach which has been so abysmal," she went on, shouting now. Every grievance she had ever had against him rose up to choke her, and she expelled them with righteous fury. "What of the pain you have caused my sister? You separated her from Mr. Bingley, when they were so in love! I know you had to leave Hertfordshire to protect yourself, but could you not have allowed Mr. Bingley to return on his own? Could he not have at least said goodbye? Jane has been wasting away these last many months, and has nothing to face but the scorn of the world for having been left by him! She was in London this winter, but you would not allow him to see her.

"I was further convinced against you when you failed to defend that footman who reported to your aunt! He is an innocent man, speaking only the truth, and you refused to set the score straight with Lady Catherine, to tell her that she had no right to dismiss him like such! Because of your misbehavior, he is without writ of character or employment in his rightful place!" Maybe she wasn't being fair, as Col Fitzwilliam had already explained the circumstances to her, and said the footman had found other employment. She was through being rational though, and everything came rushing out in a tide of words meant to sting him as much as he'd stung her.

"That was a matter of family, and no business of yours!" he snarled cruelly, incensed that she would dare intrude.

"Oh yes, I may not question your family's mores, but you question mine? And what of your engagement to Anne de Bourgh? Scarcely had I met you than I was informed that you were already spoken for. You would break your connection to her, to offer for me whom you obviously think so little of--"

"There is no engagement! I have never been engaged to my cousin and I never shall!" he roared. His face was beyond white; it was ghostly pale. Fury, hurt and betrayal rolled off Fitz in waves, making her stumble, but once started she could not finish until she had laid all her grievances at his feet.

"Nor is that all! What of what you have done to Mr. Wickham?"

"Wickham!" Mr. Darcy spat. Fitz's rage was complete, the wolf almost roaring alongside Mr. Darcy's words. "Yes, you would take his side, he is your great favorite, is he not? I see now what sort of creature you are, to defend him even with the grievous damage he has done to me and mine!"

"Oh yes, he caused a great blow to your pride, did he? I am sure that cannot be greater than the suffering you have laid on him! I would rather be the creature that stands by him than be anywhere near you!"

Mr. Darcy reeled back as though he had been slapped. They both panted, glaring furiously at each other. "That is how it is to be, then," Mr. Darcy said in a low, vicious voice. "I was mistaken to ever come here. Forgive me." He pushed pasted her roughly, and slammed out the door. She stared after him, trying to hold onto her anger against the aching hurt of Fitz. She could feel him long after Mr. Darcy had gone, as if she had become strangely sensitive to him. She felt as though she had stabbed him with a silver knife, and twisted the blade cruelly.

She couldn't believe all that Mr. Darcy had said. How could he have thought he ever loved her? Of all the stupid, selfish things! Did he honestly think she would be flattered by his advances? Hadn't she been clear in her dislike of him, the careful distance she tried to keep between them? If she had offended him tonight, it was no more than he deserved! She just wishedÉ it didn't hurt quite so much. Her bottom lip trembled, and before she knew it she was sobbing.

She hadn't been this broken-hearted since her beloved Penny had passed away. She didn't even know why she was crying! It made no sense to her! She had every right, no, obligation to refuse Mr. Darcy. She didn't even like the man. So why should she be reduced to such tears and pain? It had to be a reflection of Fitz, yet she cried long after she could no longer sense the wolf. Heart aching with grief, she finally pulled herself together long enough to go to bed. Her departure tomorrow could not come soon enough.

She woke in the morning with a stuffy head. She was not expected to the post carriage until eleven, so she took the opportunity to take a last walk to clear her head. She deliberately avoided Rosings Park, though she had to go very far out of her way not to cross into its territory. She couldn't stand being reminded of the person she had met there often, or worse yet, to think that she might still encounter him by accident. Such could only bring great pain to both parties.

Posted on: 2013-06-10

Chapter Twenty-One

Lizzy came back to the lane that would return her to Hunsford. By chance she looked across the lands of Rosings Park, and noticed a solitary figure walking toward her. It was too far to make out any features, but she knew instantly who it was. She moved faster, ignoring Mr. Darcy's voice when he called her name. She could feel Fitz as clearly as last night, still angry, still hurt and ashamed. She might just make the gates of Hunsford before him if she ran. She put her head down and pressed her legs as hard as she could.

She felt Fitz's attention sharpen on her, the urge of the hunt, the certainty of a catch. It was a useless contest. Mr. Darcy's legs were much longer than hers, and he caught up in a few strides. She had the choice of letting herself be grabbed by him, or to stand and face him. She dug her heels in and pivoted. Her shoulders squared, preparing to defend herself in any way necessary. Mr. Darcy skidded to a halt. She felt Fitz's keen disappointment that there would be no satisfying end to this hunt.

From his jacket, Mr. Darcy produced a letter and thrust it at her. She took it automatically. "I've been looking for you," he said shortly. "Will you read this?"

At her scant nod, he turned on his heel and walked away faster than she could have run. His rejection, Fitz's rejection, was clear and loud in her mind. She glanced at the letter. It was addressed simply in her name, and seemed very thick. She didn't have time to read it, but she kept it on her person as she returned to Hunsford, and took her final leave of Charlotte and Mr. Collins.

Only once she was safely on the post carriage, and the ride back to Longbourn begun, did she have time to draw it out for study. She felt reluctant to open it. What more could he possibly have to say to her? Surely he wasn't attempting to make her reconsider! Or were these more accusations of her inferiority to hurl at her? She dreaded his words, and yet her fingers burned with curiosity. There was never any question of her reading the letter. Her interest was too avid to let her rest, and she opened it with slight trepidation of its contents.

"Dear Madam," it began in dark, angular script, "Do not fear that this letter shall renew the sentiments which were so abhorrent to you last night. I have no wish to repeat them, and expose myself further to your scorn and ridicule."

She snorted, and had to resist the very great temptation to ball the papers up.

"More than enough has been said on both sides. For the peace of both, it cannot be forgotten too soon. However, there were three particular offenses that were laid on me that I wish to defend myself against. The first being my engagement to my cousin Anne, the second my separation of a loving couple, namely your sister and my friend Charles Bingley, the third the misdeeds of Mr. Wickham."

Her eyebrow rose to new heights. Of all the nerve, to write to her defending himself. Why couldn't he speak last night? He'd certainly had no problems expressing him then! Was this letter to be nothing more than his way of getting the last word in their argument? She couldn't exactly call it a proposal in all honesty. It had quickly degenerated into a shouting match, she was ashamed to admit. The grievances aired were very real and needed to be addressed--someone had to take the almighty Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley to task for them--but she could wish they had both kept their voices lowered. Nonetheless she kept reading, irresistibly drawn to his words.

"There has not been, nor shall there ever be, an understanding between my cousin Anne de Bourgh and myself. Though my aunt Catherine has wished it almost from the minute of my birth, I have always been free to make my own choices in the matter of marriage. The marriage of my parents was one of equals in love, respect and intelligence, and I was determined to find the same in my future mate. Aunt Catherine may claim it was the dearest wish of her late sister, my mother, to see Pemberley and Rosings Park joined.

"I was aware of no such designs when my mother was alive. I was supported before and after the demise of both my parents, that I should not be forced into matrimony not of my choosing. Perhaps I should have corrected my aunt's false scheme before, and not allowed her to be so diligent in spreading rumors of my engagement to her daughter. They are just that: rumors. I apologize for whatever misunderstanding that might have caused you."

She snorted again, but softer this time. She touched the word apologize lightly, wondering if he meant it. He offered an apology on paper, and yet admitted that he was aware of the rumors spread by his own family, and had let them be. How were Lady Catherine's intentions any different from Mrs. Bennet's, who sought only the security and happiness of her daughters? Yet he could disparage one while excusing the other? She shook her head, uncertain she wanted to read on. The first topic had been perhaps the least painful, as that one had no connection to her family. Did she truly want to see what further disapprobation he would level against her relations? But neither could she stop; she had to see what he wrote, if only to know just how wrong he was.

"That brings me to the second offense, of which I am nearly completely guiltless. You have said that I separated your sister Miss Bennet, and my good friend Charles Bingley, and thus ended a loving union before it could be formed."

Her hands clenched on the paper as his tone became more arch. How dare he assume an injured tone! He had not seen Jane's wasting away all these months, nor had to endure the pitying looks and whispers behind his back. If he were before her, she felt she might have punched him for the pain he had caused her sister! Her teeth were clenched, her lips drawn in an unseemly snarl. Some of the other post passengers gave her strange looks, and she endeavored to smooth her features. She could not loosen her teeth though, and her jaws ached from holding so tight.

"I admit that while I was at Netherfield, I warned Charles against your sister. Do not think that this is censure against your closest sister. Before I left Netherfield, Miss Bennet had my full respect. Let me add to this, that I know Charles much better and for longer than yourself. I daresay I might have a better understanding of his character than you. Charles is a man who easily falls in love, is quickly heartbroken, and also quickly recovered. I do not mean to say he is a rake. His feelings are no less genuine for their being of short duration. We had not been at Netherfield long, but it was clear Charles had a preference for your eldest sister above all others. This preference was hardly known, before it was generally expected that he would soon make an offer for her. This is intelligence I heard from your own mother, and others of the Hertfordshire society.

"As such, I closely observed my friend and your sister together. Though I noticed his regard quickly, I was less certain of Miss Bennet's. I did not detect a partiality to my friend, and I feared he was more attached to her than she was to him."

"Jane is shy!" she exclaimed out loud, to more curiosity from fellow travelers. She smiled tightly at them, and thought furiously to herself, She doesn't show her emotions! Neither would he if he had a mother like ours! She didn't like the way her thoughts against her mother nearly coincided with his next words.

"I also observed the actions of your family while in the public. Rest assured that I did not find anything of reproach in the actions of Miss Bennet or yourself. However your youngest sisters, your mother, and even your father are of different dispositions."

She closed her eyes for a moment, bowing her head. She didn't want to keep reading. She didn't want to hear his condemnation. It was worse because she knew he was right. She loved her family, but their actions in public had embarrassed her more than once. If only her mother wasn't such a blatant matchmaker, speaking so loud and lording over their neighbors! If only Lydia had more sense than to go tearing off after anything in a redcoat, and Kitty to follow her! If only Mary didn't have to be so wretchedly pious as to take the joy out of living!

And that was speaking only of their conduct, not to mention the way they employed their magic. Mary throwing things, Lydia constantly demanding attention or setting sparks to things. Kitty was the one least prone to abuse. She could have been a very good seamstress, and when she set her mind to it her embroidery surpassed anyone else's. But she was always in Lydia's shadow. Her magic was allowed to languish most days; Lydia didn't see how a bit of thread magic was in any way useful to catching a redcoat.

Helplessly, she opened her eyes and continued the letter.

"Charles informed me of his intentions toward Miss Bennet. He was in every way honorable, and intending to offer for her soon. I admit, at the risk of your censure, that I cautioned him against her, for fear that he might trap himself in a loveless marriage. It was not my only fear in a union with your sister, but it was mainly for his happiness I was concerned. Toward him I have been kinder than toward myself. You should be very pleased to know that Charles was adamant in his desires, and defended your sister very well. Charles has always relied heavily on my advice. Though I had the best intentions for him, and never meant him ill, his mind was made up more firmly than I had ever seen it."

She frowned. What happened? she mouthed silently. If Mr. Darcy's recounting was correct, and she had no reason to think it was not, then why hadn't Mr. Bingley offered for Jane? Why hadn't he returned? She felt a strange sort of dread, as she recalled the words he had started to account with: Jane had his full respect. As in, he longer had the same respect for Jane? Lizzy hadn't questioned Jane too hard about Mr. Bingley's leaving, knowing it was a subject too sore for her. Jane had fallen into a marked depression. She became listless, waiflike. They hadn't spoken as much as they used to. What if something had happened, and she had never noticed? She liked to think she was the observant one of the family, but she couldn't claim to know everything. Mr. Bingley's intentions were a balm on a painful point to her, but she still wondered what had happened.

"If I, as an outsider, misjudged the depth of your sister's affections, then I am very sorry for my interference. As I know Charles better than you, so I surmise that you know your sister better than I. I would hate to have severed the felicity of my closest friend and yours, by denying them the love that they might have once shared. I regret now the words I said to Charles, though unfortunately they proved to be wiser than I would have liked."

Her eyes lingered on regret, somehow that single word taking the sting out of the rest of the sentence. He was hinting at something else here, something she had never expected. He apologized for mistaking her sister, and for some reason it felt genuine, as though she could feel Fitz before her with his head low. It was as though Mr. Bingley and Jane had spoken once more before being parted, something which Mr. Darcy knew, but she did not.

"I will not hide that I am the full reason over our hasty departure from Netherfield. For reasons you already know, I had to leave immediately. I have not thanked you for the service you rendered me our last morning together. You saved my life. You know you did. Not merely that morning did you pull me from the abyss, but other times as well. And in protecting my life, it is not arrogant to declare that you have also protected the lives and welfare of hundreds of others which are in my care, not the least of which is my dear sister. I thank you. Regardless of whatever has passed between us, I shall be forever grateful and in your debt for your singular actions which resulted in my life being preserved."

She shook her head, remembering those panicked moments when she had poured magic into Fitz, safeguarding him against silver and wolfsbane. She could have done nothing else. No one with the same power she had could have turned away from him. Why now? Why after their fight, did he have to thank her now? She never wanted his thanks, never expected it. She had never thought she was being heroic when she saved him, she just remembered not wanting him to die. And the way he described it, that through him she had saved hundreds--it made her feel like some sort of messiah, and she was not! Was he trying to soften the blow of what was to come? It felt almost like he was delaying the moment when his account would conclude. What could be in there that was so difficult for him to write?

"Charles, being my closest friend and also my treating physician, would not allow me to flee alone. I fear his sisters were even more eager than I to return to London. I regret that our removal was so sudden, that it did not allow Charles to come to an understanding with your sister. Perhaps that was for the best though.

"Before he left, Charles wrote a letter to your sister. Perhaps it was not the most appropriate of actions, but it was the only one which allowed him further contact with her. I did not read the letter, but I was given to understand that it made clear the separation was necessary, but painful, yet hopefully of temporary duration."

She gasped, and her eyes went suddenly blurry with tears. Her dear Jane! There had been no letter from Mr. Bingley, only that single note from Caroline. She already knew that Mr. Darcy could not have been responsible for withholding the letter. His regret was real, and spoke of a true sorrow for his friend.

"I do not know if the letter revealed his intentions to speak with your father, but I do know that he left his forwarding address in London, where he waited for a reply."

She had to stop reading to wipe her eyes. She knew what was coming. No reply had ever been sent. She could picture Mr. Bingley's face, happily waiting for a response which never came. Eventually, he would stop waiting.

"I had little contact with Charles over the winter, but each time I saw him, he had no word from Miss Bennet. He sank deeper in despair. I have never seen him so heartbroken as he is. It was clear his attachment to your sister was deeper than any he had before. He truly would have been happy to take her as his wife. I will not disparage your sister for not sending her reply. She can have her own reasons, which she might tell you, but not me. I will only say, that I think her attachment to my friend was not so great as his to her. I apologize if this offends you. I heartily regret ever speaking caution to Charles, for now when he sees me he is reminded only of her.

"As for your sister being in London this winter, I had no idea. As I said, I had little contact with Charles, for the majority of my winter was spent at Pemberley with my sister. It was a joy to be reunited with her again, and to no longer fear that I would do her harm. That is also something which you have given me, which I will treasure always."

She put down the letter, struck by two things. The first was that he once again thanked her for something that was nearly arbitrary. He would have eventually found peace with Fitz on his own. The fact that she was there had little to do with it. Yet he would insist on practically calling her his every source of happiness. She wished now she had held onto her temper a little better, and not been so stark in her rebuttal of him. Jane was always cautioning her against jumping to conclusions, and not making hasty judgments. She was starting to see that perhaps she had been too harsh on Mr. Darcy.

The second notion that caught her was the way he referred to Mr. Bingley. In the present tense. As in, he was still grieving over the loss of her sister. He had not gotten over her quickly, as Mr. Darcy had surmised. She should have felt vindicated to have been more correct than Mr. Darcy over their feelings, but instead she felt a great sorrow for the plight of the two lovers. What had happened to that letter? Why was it never sent? Who could have hidden it from Jane?

"If I had known that Miss Bennet was in the vicinity of Charles, I do not know what I might have done. Should I have encouraged him to seek her again, knowing how she had hurt him once? Or should I have concealed it from him, in the hopes that time would heal him? I hope I would have made the right choice, but I do not know what that might have been."

She bit her lip, with a silent, unladylike curse. Now she felt like apologizing to Mr. Darcy. He seemed forlorn in the letter, as helpless as she to fix the heart of his nearest friend. She didn't want to feel sympathy for him, or to know that he cared so much for his friend. She needed to vilify him, to justify her own less than refined actions toward him. She couldn't help but to recall with perfect clarity the hurt, anger and betrayal Fitz had felt the night before. She felt them all again as she read the letter, and she was not through yet! She now actively dreaded the last part, pertaining to Mr. Wickham. How many more of her presumptions was he going to break? Why did it have to be so painful to be wrong?

"And now I speak of Mr. Wickham, as you so called him."

She couldn't help but to notice his writing was thicker, the pen strokes harder on the page. He had been angry when he wrote this. She traced the lines, as if she could apologize for his anger and soothe him.

"I do not write here to justify myself, nor to cast aspersions on another. I confess that I write only out of a deepest worry for your safety. Please do not think me arrogant in being concerned for you, though I have little right to. I fear for all those who might have occasion to cross his path. I do not know what lies he might have told you. I will not attempt to correct them. Instead I will tell you nothing less than the full truth of all my dealings with Wickham. I pray that you continue reading this letter, and not stop for a moment. As I have held your interest so far, I beg you to go on."

His words sent a strange chill through her. It felt as though he were sitting next to her, speaking right now instead of writing words hours ago.

"You must know that Wickham is a werewolf. He is in fact the werewolf which turned me."

The letter dropped from numb fingers, and her stomach twisted violently. Suddenly, she knew. She knew everything, without knowing the details. The pale wolf, the murders at Netherfield. Poor, sweet, dear Holly! The monster, the wolf in sheep's clothing. The informant who sent the militia after Mr. Darcy. The terrible wounds on Fitz's bloodied form. She clasped a hand over her mouth and rose quickly. She stumbled over the other passengers, despite their protests and clawed at the door. She reached for the horses with her magic, and all four balked at once, causing the carriage to jolt.

She barely made it outside in time to be sick on the side of the road. The other passengers and the drivers exclaimed and did not wish to let her on again. She thanked the horses for letting her out safely, and they refused to move off until she was once again on board. She had a panicked moment when she could not find her letter, until she saw a whiskered traveler had picked it up, and was now absently perusing it.

"That is private, sir!" she shouted, snatching it from him. Her heart pounded in fear. How much had he read? Had he seen the worst part, the confession of poor Mr. Darcy's lycanthropy?

"Damned love letter," he spat at her. "Keep yer business to yerself!"

Thank God! If he had seen werewolf, his reaction would have been very different. With trembling fingers she opened her letter, and found her place again. Now she read avidly, not eager but needing to finish it, to know the full truth of how Wickham--he was no gentleman--had harmed one of the best men of her acquaintance.

"He was not always a werewolf. He was once the son of the late steward of Pemberley. My father, Mr. George Darcy, was named Wickham's godfather. I must say here that old Mr. Wickham, the steward, was an honest, hardworking man, and there was never a complaint against him or his conduct. He was often short on funds because of the extravagance of his wife, yet he remained the most loyal servant to my father until the time of his passing.

"My father was a good man, and adopted Wickham under his wing when we were both young boys. We played together, we were raised together, and were young men at university together, something which Wickham would have never had, save for my father. It was during our late boyhood, as we began to form our own personalities, that I first noticed a difference in our behavior. My father favored Wickham greatly, and would not hear of any faults against him. Yet it was not long before I began to find Wickham's presence uncomfortable, then intolerable.

"I do not wish to sully your mind with tales of his iniquities, so I will only say that he did not conduct himself as a gentleman ought. His vices were great, and immoral. Yet he was very capable of being charming, and hiding his true face until one was lulled into trust by his actions. Certainly my father never saw the other side of his godson.

"My father hoped to provide for Wickham even after his death, and was desirous that he take up a calling in the church. In his will, he stated that a valuable living be given to Wickham when it fell open, should he take up orders. You can imagine my trepidation at such a thing, and my relief when Wickham decided that he should study law instead. He was given three thousand pounds in place of the living, and I thought it well worth to be quit of him.

"I did not see Wickham again until two years later, when he again applied to me for money. I know not how he could have gone through the money so fast, but I refused him. All appearance of acquaintance was severed, and I thought that the end. It was not to be. About three years ago, the living that had once been recommended to Wickham fell open. He appeared nearly at once. His circumstances were exceedingly bad, he said, and having found the law unprofitable, was now determined to take orders in the church.

"I will admit that he appeared extremely ill at the time. I believe that is when he was first infected as a werewolf, and had not yet learned to control himself. I knew nothing of it at the time, and though I offered to send a doctor for him, denied him the living. He was very furious at my refusal, and would not accept the aid of a physician. He spoke violently against me to my face, such accusations and recriminations that are not fit to be repeated.

"I did not comprehend the danger I might have been in at the time. It is only knowing how I was in the first months, that I am able to detect the signs that his nature had changed at that point. I summoned several footmen, and he was cast from my home. I thought at last I was done with him. However, he was determined to have his revenge.

"You are aware that I have a sister, about the age of your sister Lydia. Her name is Georgiana, and she is the dearest person in the world to me. Since the demise of our father when I was not yet twenty years of age, myself and Richard Fitzwilliam have been her co-guardians. She was but seven when we were orphaned, and I have had the raising of her myself.

"If I do say it, please do not think I am boasting willfully about her, but she is a very sweet, beautiful girl, who has been my greatest pleasure and pride. I think you would have liked her very much. I have seen how caring you are with your sisters, and I have often lamented that Georgiana has no such female company to comfort her. I am so far above her in age that she looks up to me almost as a father, one she fears to disappoint.

"This last summer, I failed her."

His words trembled as if his hand had shook that that point. She was shaking herself, near tears at the fear of what was coming next. She could believe any evil of the pale wolf, and was ashamed she had ever taken his part.

"For the summer, she was taken from her establishment to holiday in Ramsgate by the sea. She traveled with a mistress from her school, a Mrs. Younge, in whose character we were greatly deceived. Wickham also traveled to Ramsgate, undoubtedly by design, for there was a previous connection between him and Mrs. Younge.

"Georgiana had little idea of the falling out of Wickham, and retained a fond memory of him in her heart of his kindness to her as a child. It is absolutely certain that she knew nothing of his altered being. She was persuaded that she was in love with him, and that she was to elope with him. She was but fifteen at the time. Now having revealed her imprudence, I trust in your discretion. I must also add, that I owed the knowledge of it to herself.

"I arrived unexpectedly, just a day or two before the intended defection. I had purchased a dress I wished to see her in, but when she returned from dressing she had a thick shawl around her shoulders. She was reluctant to leave it off, but when she did, it showed marks along her arms. I asked, and she confessed all to me.

"Notwithstanding his supposed attachment to my sister, Wickham had left the marks on her arms as the results of his 'affections.' You may imagine what I felt and how I acted. Mrs. Younge was dismissed immediately. I laid in wait for Wickham to confront him. Georgiana was secreted on the downstairs of the house where she was staying, while I waited in her room. At the appointed time, Wickham climbed in through her window.

"I was surprised by the increased physicality of him, though I knew not the cause. It was not that he was increased from how he had been before, but he had an ease in moving and confidence that had not been present before, and he knew immediately when I was in the room. As there was no hiding from him, I stepped out at once.

"Far from being upset or nervous about being caught, Wickham was derisive and even jubilant. I can only believe that it was his original intention to change either Georgiana or myself, and he was as satisfied with one target as another. We argued. He was deliberately provoking, and our altercation became physical. You can imagine my surprise when his strength easily bested my own. He was able to push me aside, and lock the door.

"That is when he changed. I do not remember much of the attack. It suffices me to say that the victim must be severely injured by both claw and fang to be changed into a werewolf. The noise from the room drew others to us, and by the time the door was broken down, I was nearly insensible. Wickham of course escaped.

"My injuries were tended. I believe I badly frightened Georgiana that I would not live. But I survived, and I could feel already the foreign changes within myself. We traveled with all haste to Pemberley. I contacted both Richard and Charles to secure their aid. Both managed to arrive before the full moon, which was less than a week's time since the attack. They attempted to restrain me during that time, but were unprepared. I was able to get free, and if not for their intervention, I might have killed nearly the full household of Pemberley, including my sister.

"I saw Wickham only once more before Hertfordshire, and that was when he appeared and attempted to compel me to follow him. There is a sort of bond between an older werewolf and the young werewolf he has created that should have made it possible, but I proved to be too strong for him. He fled, and Charles and Richard were better prepared to contain me the following nights of the full moon.

"I believe that Wickham's first object in attaching himself to my sister was her fortune of thirty-thousand pounds. That he intended to change at least one of us, and succeeded with me, made his revenge on me nearly complete.

"That is the true account of my dealings with Wickham. I am sorry if I have caused you pain in the telling of it. You may do as you wish regarding him, but I urge you to the strongest caution in your dealings with him. If you have read this far, I hope that you believe what I have spoken, and you acquit me of cruelty toward Wickham. Richard or Charles can also confirm my story, though Charles had learned of it only recently. If you doubt me because of our interactions, you can have no reason to doubt either of them.

"You may wonder why I did not speak of this last night. I can only say that I was overcome with feeling. I did not know how much or little to reveal. It is only by reflection throughout the night that I have been able to write this letter. I will find some way of getting this to you before you depart. I only add, God bless you.

"Fitzwilliam Darcy."

She finished with a sigh. Her hands were trembling when she lowered the letter. How could she have been so wrong? So utterly wrong, as to make nearly everything she had known the opposite of what she had thought it. She placed her finger over the first part his name, the appellation she used for his wolf. Hadn't her instincts been warning her all along?

She had known from the beginning that the pale wolf was sick and evil. She had known there was a second werewolf in Hertfordshire. She had noticed the way Wickham moved. Now it was so obvious that he moved the way Mr. Darcy did, especially once he had stopped fighting his wolf. She had been thrown off by Wickham's friendly manners. Mr. Darcy had been so aloof during his stay at Netherfield. Only now did she know of the pain he must have been suffering, both struggling with his wolf and also with the knowledge of what had happened to his sister.

To think that the militia--and Wickham--were still posted at Meryton! She only had to think of Lydia in the same area as that creature to reach out with her magic and ask the horses for a little more speed. It was imperative that she get home, and make sure her sisters were safe from the foul werewolf. It comforted her a little that her sisters were possessed of no great dowries, and therefore of little value to him. But with Lydia's blatant behavior, throwing herself at anything with a redcoat, she feared her sister would be a diversion for him.

How could she have ever doubted Mr. Darcy so severely? She felt now she had done him great injustice with the way she had treated him. It wasn't that she found herself suddenly in love with him, but she regretted her vicious reactions now. She couldn't recall Fitz's pain without guilt twisting her insides. He least of all was the one she wished to hurt. He had come into this world in a difficult way. Mr. Darcy had fought his intrusion until it was impossible. Against all odds, they had survived, learned to coexist.

And Mr. Darcy had come to admire her! That alone seemed so far from possible, that she wished she could laugh at it. Instead, she recalled her actions with shame. He was still arrogant, to think his manner of address could endear her to him. Overbearing. ButÉ she understood him better now. Respected him, even. It had been very brave of him to write so honestly, and then to hand her the letter when he had no way of knowing if she would believe it, or even read it. It was a dangerous letter, confessing to be a werewolf, and naming those who had helped him. And he had entrusted it to her care. Why would he do that?

Her finger traced the remained of his name. Because he was honorable. Because he would not stand for his name to be sullied by falsehoods. He was proud, but perhaps he had reason to be after all he had survived. She turned to the beginning again and reread the letter. She found it was easier to forgive the parts that had rankled her at first, now that she had read the entirety. It seemed clear that though he declared a wish to forget their argument and his failed proposal, it was still very much in his mind as he wrote the letter.

His tenderness as he spoke of his sister, his grief for Mr. Bingley. The way he thanked her. It was stark and without pretension. It was as though layers had been stripped away, and in the letter she read the true Fitzwilliam Darcy, gentleman werewolf, at last. All in all, it was a very long journey back to Longbourn. She read his letter every day, more than once. Soon she had passages memorized, but she kept going back time and again. It seemed to her that each subsequent reading gave her a greater understanding of his mind, and raised him higher in her esteem.

Reaching Longbourn was a very great relief. Since learning of Wickham's falsehoods, she had feared every sort of evil befalling her family. She half-expected to return to hear that half the countryside was devoured by the pale wolf. Instead, life at home was oddly quiet. The volume was as it ever was. Her sisters and mother continued to fight and wail with all the power of their lungs, but it was so normal, so home, that she found she had missed it greatly.