Beginning, Section II, Next Section

Chapter Six

Posted on Thursday, 16 March 2006

"Oh, I cannot believe that Mr. Bingley would leave," Mrs. Bennet said over breakfast. "And yet, my sister Phillips says that the house has been locked up and there's no thought of coming back again. I'll always say he used my daughter very ill. Very ill indeed."

"It is true Lizzy," Jane said, looking up at her sister, her eyes filled with tears. "Caroline herself wrote to tell me that they've gone to London, to meet with Mr. Darcy's sister. She..." Jane's voice faltered. "She has great hopes that Mr. Bingley means to marry Miss Darcy."

Lizzy took a deep breath. She would rather cut out her own tongue with a butter knife than tell Jane what she'd seen in the rhubarb. Through the night she'd lain awake, tossing, tormented by the idea of what Mr. Darcy had corrupted Mr. Bingley into. She was quite sure it wasn't Mr. Bingley's true nature. She'd seen the way he looked at Jane.

But she'd read the Plato and the historians of the Roman Empire. She didn't understand the attraction of the vice, but there must be some, since so many powerful people had indulged in it. And however it was, Mr. Bingley wasn't for Jane.

Helping herself to eggs and a slice of ham, she said, "I'm sorry to say it, Jane, but I think it's a good thing that Mr. Bingley should be removed from us, and that we should be removed from Mr. Bingley."

She saw Jane's eyes widen at her contradicting what she told Jane just the day before. But Jane was too kind to call her to task about it.

"Bite your tongue, girl," Mrs. Bennet said. "Well... The good thing is that Jane is going to London to stay with my brother, Gardiner. I'm sure that she'll contrive a way to run into Bingley. She is such a clever girl."

"Mama..." Lizzy said.

"It does credit to your modesty, cousin Elizabeth," Mr. Collins said, from across the table, where he was stuffing his face with fried kidneys. "To mention that it is not right for the lady to run after the man. For a woman's reputation is as lovely as it is frail. And once gone, it is gone forever."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "Guess what?" she said. "Oh, never mind. They caught an old wolf out Cunningham farm's way. The Were Hunters think he might have been the one that was getting into henhouses. I hope not, for if they do not catch at least one were soon, we'll be declared non infested, and the RWH will be moved elsewhere. Oh, I hope not."

"Well," Mrs. Bennet said. "You girls must make the most of it while you can. You should walk to Meryton and see the officers."

Mr. Bennet turned the page of the paper and made a sound. "Well," he said. "Brighton has just been declared a most infested locale. They have three dragons, a were cheetah, and--" He looked over the paper at them, his eyes sparkling. "A were gorilla who appears at the pump nightly. Now -- that would be diverting. Why can we never get unusual weres. The least they can do is make sport for us."

"Papa," Lizzy said. She loved her father dearly, but sometimes he said things that she worried would be hurtful to Jane, or put her in a position of danger.

"Er..." Mr. Bennet looked at his daughter uncomprehending. "Oh come, Lizzy," he said. "If I were a Were I'd want to give as much trouble as humanly possibly." He flashed a grin, before going back to his reading. "Perhaps I'd lock myself up in my library and thus avoid the moon altogether. And at night I'd let out terrifying howls to scare the servants." He made a sound that might be a growl or a choked off bout of laughter. "Oh, that would do very well indeed."

"Mamma," Lizzy said, her concern rising at all the talk of weres. And if that was not bad enough, she greatly doubted her ability to be alone with Jane without blurting the whole miserable business of the rhubarb. "I think I'll go for a walk to clear my head. Oakham Mount perhaps."

"But, Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Collins said. "I wish to speak with you during the course of the morning."

Elizabeth had a feeling she knew what that talk would be about. She shook her head. "Mr. Collins. I'm sure that there is nothing you want to speak to me about. At least nothing that could possibly be important."

"Miss Lizzy," Mrs. Bennet said. "I order you to listen to Mr. Collins."

And so it was that immediately after breakfast, Lizzy found herself in the small parlor in the company of a very nervous Mr. Collins. She knew he was nervous because he was walking around the room in circles. And, as he walked, his demeanor changed, and he started stooping forward, his knuckles dragging on the ground.

Turning around, he fixed her with soulful brown eyes. "Ook," he said. "Oook, oook, ook, ook." He gestured with his hands, then gestured with his foot. The shoe slipped, and another hand emerged from his shoe.

Mr. Collins sat on his behind, and started picking his fur, pensively.

His fur. Lizzy blinked. She backed against the table. Mr. Collins was an orangutan. A were. He had that reaction she'd often read about in books, though never observed in Jane, of turning to his were form when scared. And he was blinking at her out of small, simian eyes and saying, "Ook, ook, oook" with the intensity of feeling that betrayed that he thought he was speaking English. And with a sense of dread and astonishment, Lizzy realized that Mr. Collins had no idea whatsoever that he shifted forms. And probably neither did most people -- considering that his ape form was so similar to his human form.

The realization shook Lizzy so that she fell backward onto an armchair, staring wide eyed at him. She'd been so concentrated on Jane, on keeping Jane safe, that she'd never considered there might be other weres nearby.

Oh, she knew there was a dragon and perhaps another wolf somewhere -- at least she hoped that the wolf that Jane was so taken with was not the old wolf they'd caught raiding henhouses. But she assumed they were people they never knew in the whole course of their lives. Apprentices to some craftsman, clerks to some firm. The affliction of weredom was not confined to the upper classes. On the contrary, appearing as rarely as it did in each family, it could not often appear in nobility. Because noblemen and wealthy people, living as they did surrounded by servants and retainers, were caught out more often than not.

It was only through the utmost care that Lizzy had kept Jane from being discovered. She'd never expected to meet another were in her circle of friends, let alone her family.

She started to shake, and then realized it was laughter, bubbling up from deep within her, from some place she didn't even know existed. It erupted in a burbling stream from her lips, and grew into chuckles, then guffaws.

"Oook?" Mr. Collins said. He looked worried. "Ook, ook, ook?" He stretched a long, brown arm, and picked what Lizzy hoped was an imaginary louse off her head. "Ook?" he said, taking his fingers to his mouth.

Lizzy swallowed, trying to get control of her laughter, and managed only to bubble with the occasional giggle as she said, "Mr. Collins, I am afraid I must refuse your kind offer. I'm the last woman who could ever make you happy, and I know you could never make me so."

"Ooook?" Mr. Collins asked, incredulous.

"Oh, no, Mr. Collins. You do me a great honor with your proposal, but truly, I could never aspire to being your wife. I am not worthy."

"Oooo?" he asked. Then, puffing out his chest. "Ook."

"Indeed," Lizzy said.

And at this, she leaned back in her chair and laughed, wholeheartedly. She laughed till her sides ached. She laughed till she thought she'd cry.

When she was done, Mr. Collins was a sad little shape, knuckling across the garden, towards the road. She wondered how far he was going. And she was sure he was quite safe. How odd that one could be a were and yet be perfectly disguised.

Collins ambled across the fields, not knowing where he was going, only aware that his hopes in marrying his cousin Elizabeth were all dashed. What is more, she had laughed at him. He was certain of this. Well, blast all Bennets. He had intended to do his Christian duty because of the unfortunate entail, but that was now over. No other female in the household could tempt him. Mary too prissy and prosaic, Kitty and Lydia too flighty and flirty.

Though it was the last day of November, it was balmy, almost spring-like day. Charlotte Lucas had gone down to the herb garden to cut some fresh chives for the omelet she planned to prepare for her father's nuncheon. Though he was a knight, they kept no cook, something that Mrs Bennet enjoyed to make note of when extolling the virtues of her daughters over those of the Lucases. But Charlotte believed that her cooking abilities would hold her in good stead one day.

She had just placed the bunch of chives into her basket when she heard a rustling in the bushes and looked up to see Mr Collins loping awkwardly towards her. He looked rather unkempt. His uneven gait she soon put down to the fact that one of his shoes hung from his ear rather than covering his foot.

"Mr Collins," she cried. "Whatever has happened?"

He looked at her. "Ook!" he said most pathetically.

She thought she had never seen him look more dejected. Or hairy. And then and there she decided that she would marry him. Someone had to see to it that the man received a regular shave.

"Mr Collins, you must tell me all about it," she said, putting her arms out to him.

Luckily she had found a bench to sit upon, because he hopped up into her lap and began rocking back and forth, crooning.

She had never experienced lovemaking before, though she was full seven and twenty, but she was quite sure that his behavior had gone beyond the bounds of propriety, and she was glad of it. Soon one of her family was bound to come by and see. She would be completely compromised and they would be forced to marry. She closed her eyes and allowed him to stroke her hair, even though his hands were rough and his fingernails rather long. When they were married she would ensure he was always properly manicured, too. The poor man definitely needed a woman to look after him.

"Charlotte, what are you doing on a bench all tangled in a gentleman's arms?" cried her little brother Harry, who had just come up from fishing in the stream.

"Hush!" cried Charlotte. "Mr Collins and I are engaged. He is going to speak to Papa at once."

"Engaged?" he chortled. "I never thought I should see the day!"

Mr Collins suddenly bounced off her lap. "Oook!" he expostulated. Then after a look of severe concentration, "Engaged?"

"Why certainly, Mr Collins," said Charlotte. "I am a lady of virtue. You do not think that I would allow such . . . privileges without us having pledged our troth to each other."

"Oook, troth?"

"You were most persuasive, when you so eloquently told me of your love." She sighed. "And when you told me what a perfect parson's wife I should be. How I should know what to put upon all those shelves in your numerous closets."

Collins' furrowed brow smoothed a little. "Closets."

"Indeed. And how I would humble myself appropriately before your most illustrious patroness. Elizabeth Bennet would never do that."

Mr Collins could but nod in agreement.

"And of course nothing matches my esteem for you," she added. "It is near as great, but not quite so much, as the esteem in which you hold Lady Catherine de Bourgh."

Collins could not help but be impressed. "Oook," he sighed.

"Now please," she said in the manner of speaking to a deficient child, "take that shoelace out of your mouth and put the shoe upon your foot. You need to go and speak to Papa right away."

And as Charlotte glanced at his foot his need of a wife was impressed upon her all the more. The man had not thought even to wear stockings upon his feet! She smiled indulgently. She realized she was to have her work cut out for her, but she was certain that she would be the making of the man! Not a marriage of the deepest love like Lizzy was forever harping about, but certainly preferable to living the shadow of a life in the home of one of her brothers or propping up her aging parents in the sunset of their days.

Sir William was pleased to finally be petitioned for the hand of his eldest daughter. His face wreathed in smiles he indicated a chair for Collins to sit upon, while he poured them each a large glass of brandy from a cut glass decanter.

"So, you want to marry our Charlotte?" he asked.

Collins snuggled into the chair, sipped his drink, and stared blankly back at Sir William. "Oook," he said.

"Capital, capital!" cried Sir William jovially. "I had thought you meant to have one of your cousins, but I am pleased as punch you chose our own sweet Charlotte instead. Lomgbourn will be yours one day. It will be nice to have our girl situated so close to home. Very nice indeed."

"Oook," said Collins smugly.

"I can see that we are of one mind," said Sir William, nodding sagely. "Welcome to the family, my boy. Capital, capital."

The next morning, Lizzy was pleased to see that though her mother plagued Mr Collins to renew his addresses to her second child, he adamantly refused. He then proceeded to make himself scarce for the rest of the day. Lizzy was glad. She did not want her last few hours with Jane spoiled by another scene with Mr Collins.

She sat in the parlor holding Jane's hand until their uncle's man arrived with the carriage to take Jane to London.

"Lizzy..." Jane said. "Don't worry about me. I'll live quietly in London. I will be safe with our aunt and uncle."

"I know you will dear," Lizzy said, reaching for the valise and handing it to Jane. "I know you will. And it will ease my mind to know you safe and sound."

"Yes," Jane said, but her voice sounded distant.

"What is it dear," Lizzy said, studiously avoiding asking if it was Mr. Bingley.

"Oh, Lizzy, I must say I'll always... It's just that I... I prefer him to every other man I've ever known."

"Oh, Jane," Lizzy said, and hugged her tightly. "It will all turn out for the best, you'll see."

Lizzy stood upon the gravel sweep long after the carriage had gone. What was she to do now that she no longer had Jane to protect? How would she keep her thoughts from returning to that terrible scene she had witnessed at the Netherfield ball? She was about to return to the house when Lydia and Kitty came running up the drive, giggling even more boisterously than usual.

"Oh Lizzy you will never guess what has happened!" cried Lydia.

"We have just now seen Maria Lucas," said Kitty.

"Charlotte is to be married!" cried Lydia.

"I wanted to tell," pouted Kitty, as she stomped her foot.

"To Mr Collins!" cried Lydia.

"Mr Collins? It cannot be!" said Lizzy.

"Did you think that because you did not want him no one else would?" asked Lydia. "Though, truth be told, I cannot understand what Charlotte sees in that ugly, mottled thing."

"And his whiskers!" tittered Kitty. "Oh, sh! Here she comes now to tell you."

Lizzy did her best to keep her composure while talking to her friend. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt Charlotte's feelings and alienate her, but the thought of Charlotte married to a were-ape was almost too much to bear. Not only was Mr Collins boring and unattractive in his human form, his lack of control over his animal form was both disagreeable and dangerous.

But Charlotte claimed to be happy with her engagement, and she knew that her friend had different expectations from marriage than she had herself. She knew she ought to, but she could not bring herself to tell Charlotte what she had discovered about Mr Collins. It would ruin her happiness and make her a laughingstock in the neighborhood. Besides, with the were hunters in town, it could be dangerous for Mr. Collins. And she didn't want his life on her hands.

Far away in his London Townhouse, Mr. Darcy brooded by the sitting room window. Behind him, Georgiana played, softly. He'd been glad enough to see Georgiana again. Georgiana was still wounded from the events with Sevrin and more in need of his steadying arm and shoulder than Darcy had expected.

They were now alone, the Bingleys having left after dinner. But how quiet and hapless Bingley had looked at dinner. Darcy very much feared that his attachment to the Bennet girl had been real and one of those of which one hardly recovered, or never completely. With Bingley's gentle nature, he was likely to fall in melancholy. The fact that Miss Bingley had babbled on no stop with more vitriol than sense hadn't made dinner any easier.

He became aware the piano had stopped behind him, a second before Georgiana put her hand on his shoulder.

"You are very quiet, brother."

Darcy sighed. "I suppose," he said. "I'm still mourning for..." He wouldn't say Sevrin's name.

Georgiana sighed. "We all are. But I seem to detect something else, some fresh grief."

Darcy managed a quick, flashing smile. How perceptive Georgiana was, for her age. "Not grief, dear. Not exactly." With his larger hand, he patted her hand on his shoulder. "Not unless one can grieve for a future that could never be."

Georgiana looked attentively at him, her dark blue eyes serious. "It is a girl, then? Like... Mr. Bingley?"

Darcy looked over his shoulder at Georgiana. "What know you of Bingley's girl?"

"Nothing, except that Miss Bingley was very spiteful about some nobody who tried to attach him. Was it the same girl you cared for?"

Darcy laughed at the thought of his being interested in Jane Bennet. "Nothing so simple, no. It was... another girl. With eyes like the midnight sky. She..." He shook his head. "To be honest, I don't even know why she fascinates me."

He looked out at the sky, lit by reflections of lights from the great city of London. And realized in his mind he was calculating how long it would take the dragon to fly to Hertfordshire and fly outside Elizabeth Bennet's window, looking into her bedchamber. But his rational self knew this was lunacy. He would have to be content with his memory of her, sleeping, her face beautiful and hopeful in repose. Like a fairy princess waiting the kiss of a charmed knight.

Unfortunately, he was more cursed than charmed. And the kiss would never happen.

Chapter Seven

Posted on Wednesday, 5 April 2006

As the parsonage at Hunsford came into view, Lizzy heaved a sigh of relief. It was not that the journey had been too long and tiring, after all, what was fifty miles of good road? It was her company. Sir William was a kind neighbor, but he did ramble on. He had spent the previous evening with Colonel Forster of the Royal Were Hunters, and his head was full of anecdotes the colonel had related to him, which he felt bound to relay to his traveling companions.

Maria Lucas listened, spellbound, to her father, her eyes growing huger and huger as he told of the many vicious weres that the colonel claimed to have captured single-handedly. Every so often she would give a little squeal, half fear, half pleasure, and exclaim, "What a very brave man the colonel is!" or, "Such terrible beasts!"

Lizzy had to bite her tongue so as not to jump to the defense of werekind. She realized that showing too much partiality might make her suspect as well, but it was a great struggle. She did, however, say in a most restrained manner. "We must not forget that they are people too, and deserve our compassion."

Maria just stared at her, a shocked look upon her face.

"To be sure, to be sure," said Sir William. "'Tis very sad. Would that it was detectable at birth and then we could do away with them before they embarked upon such lives of misery. Like drowning unwanted kittens."

"Oh no! Drown kittens!" cried Maria Lucas.

Her father patted her hand for she looked as though she would burst out in tears.

Lizzy stared out of the window, her lips pressed together so that she would not voice the thoughts that pounded at her head. The very idea of Jane, dearest sweetest Jane, being put into a sack as an infant and tossed into the river was too terrible to bear with equanimity.

It was then that the yellow stone walls of the parsonage came into view from behind a stand of elms, and Sir William's thoughts were diverted to his daughter Charlotte and her new husband.

"A fine looking home indeed!" he cried. "But of course it is, for Lady Catherine is a most generous landlord, I believe, and takes a prodigious interest in all things great and small, so my son Collins tells me."

Lizzy could not get out of the carriage quickly enough, when it stopped at the parsonage gate. She threw herself into Charlotte's arms, realizing just how much she had missed her dear friend. Her cousin held his hand out to her and she allowed him to grasp hers in a brotherly manner, noting how well manicured his nails now were, and how the fine orange hairs upon the back of his hand had been closely trimmed.

They were all ushered into the parlor while Collins pointed out all the most interesting aspects of the house.

"These rosebushes were planted just here, at Lady Catherine's suggestion, there being just the right amount of sun in this corner. And here, you see, our doorknocker has been raised a full three inches, for Lady Catherine noticed that it was much too low. This carpeting in the hallway was chosen because, as Lady Catherine most kindly pointed out, brown and green will not need to be cleaned as often as lighter colors."

He had much more to say even than that. Lady Catherine had advised them on everything from the distribution of the household furniture to the placing of shelves in the closets. Lizzy knew she would find such involvement officious, but Charlotte seemed to accept it with complaisance. She also appeared to be content in her marriage, something Lizzy would never have expected. But Lizzy could see that it was all due to Charlotte's good management. She even had her husband looking more presentable than he ever had, heretofore.

Lizzy pondered whether Charlotte had discovered that her husband shifted from human to orangutan at the drop of a hat. She could not imagine how such a phenomenon could slip her friend's notice, but she was afraid to ask.

The next day she had the dubious pleasure of meeting with Lady Catherine herself. They were invited to come to Rosings after dinner to spend the evening with the ladies. Lady Catherine was a little, bird-like woman, but she made up for her small stature with her overbearing presence.

Her daughter, Miss Anne de Burgh, was a sickly girl who sat wrapped in a shawl and spoke to no one but her attendant, Mrs Jenkinson.

"My daughter should have been presented at St James, were she not such a frail invalid," said Lady Catherine.

Mr Collins spouted some fatuous nonsense, likening Miss Anne to the rarest of jewels, and Sir William mentioned, timidly, his having been knighted there.

"And you," said Lady Catherine to Lizzy. "Have you had a London season?"

"No ma'am. With five daughters my father could not go to the expense."

"You have four sisters? Are all of them out? And none married?"

"They are."

"Singular. I do not know what your mother is thinking allowing the youngest to be out before the eldest have married."

"I believe she is thinking to marry us all as quickly as she might."

"And yet you are unmarried and you must be a full one and twenty!"

"I am not yet one and twenty," said Lizzy.

"She seems to be very behind hand with the job."

Lizzy only nodded, not seeing fit to respond to such incivility.

"I understand there is a problem in your neighborhood with a proliferation of lycanthropes. A terrible situation. I was telling Mrs Collins she is well away from there. Here in Kent you will find we have dealt severely with such blasphemous creatures. We see to it that our peasants breed true."

"I thought that people in all walks of life suffer from the affliction. There are weres even in the peerage," said Lizzy.

"Nonsense!" cried Lady Catherine. "It is all due to common blood! If any peers have been caught as weres, then they were born through some indiscretion between the lady of the house and a stable hand or gardener. Good breeding cannot be discounted. There is something very base about a person who changes into an animal."

Lizzy watched as Mr Collins nodded in agreement, while scratching himself behind his ear, and emitting one or two affirmative ‘ooks'.

"You see, my parson agrees with me," said Lady Catherine. "I have ensured that he is well versed at how these hereditary traits manifest themselves in the lower classes amongst his flock. With my training he has become forever vigilant in winnowing the wheat from the chaff."

Elizabeth felt a chill go down her spine at the thought that some innocent peasant might be turned in to the RWH due to Lady Catherine's over-zealousness. "Are mistakes ever made?" she ventured to ask.

Lady Catherine looked down her nose at Lizzy as if to say, ‘I never make mistakes,' but she instead said, "You are very inquisitive for such a young person. You will find it easier to get along in society if you take your lead from your betters rather than attempting to form your own ill-informed opinions."

Done with Lizzy, Lady Catherine turned to Charlotte and said, "My nephews will be coming to spend Easter at Rosings as usual. They are so attentive of me, and of Anne. Especially Mr Darcy. You know that he and Anne are intended for each other. A perfect match -- two young people of the purest breeding and two grand estates."

Lizzy's annoyance at being dismissed so insultingly by Lady Catherine was replaced by her shock in discovering that she would soon be in the company of Mr Darcy. She wondered how she could ever face him after having seen him naked in the conservatory of Netherfield, in a very compromising situation with Mr Bingley. She remembered his sleek body rising up from the rhubarb and blushed at the perverseness of her nature that such a vision should come to her when it was the last thing that she desired to remember.

Mr Collins ran into the back garden to collect Lizzy and Charlotte who had been strolling about in the warm spring sunshine, picking daffodils and sprays of forsythia to arrange in the parlor.

"Ook, they are come. Ook, ook! Hurry, hurry," he cried.

"Who are come?" asked Charlotte, stroking his arm in a calming manner.

"Mr Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam."

Charlotte looked over at Lizzy. "This is due to you. Mr Darcy would not visit so promptly just to see me."

"No," Lizzy choked out. "You are wrong Charlotte. I could not imagine that Mr Darcy has any more desire to see me than I have to see him. Can I not go up to my room instead?"

Mr Collins began hopping about in consternation, uttering a series of short shrieks.

"My husband insists you welcome our guests with me," said Charlotte with determination.

Lizzy could see that if she followed her inclination and hid from Mr Darcy in her bedchamber there was a good chance that her cousin would reveal his affliction to the world. With Lady Catherine's tendency to go on witch-hunts against weres, Lizzy had no wish to put Mr Collins' life in jeopardy. There was nothing for it but to meet Mr Darcy.

Darcy and his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, walked along the path through Rosings' park towards the lynch gate that led to the parsonage.

"The parson ran ahead awfully quickly," noted the colonel.

"He wanted to prepare the ladies," said Darcy, his mind in contemplation of one of the ladies in particular.

"He has a most interesting gait."

"I am neither interested in the parson nor his gait," said Darcy impatiently.

"I could not help but notice, ever since our aunt mentioned the visitors at the parsonage you have become very tense. Has this anything to do with a lady?"

Darcy sighed. He could keep no secrets from his cousin. Colonel Fitzwilliam was one of the few people who knew of Darcy's affliction. In fact, the colonel had sworn to Mr Darcy senior when he was on his deathbed that he would do his best to protect Darcy from the prejudiced world. That was why they traveled together to Rosings every Easter. Lady Catherine insisted on Darcy's visits, but she had such a vendetta going against all forms of lycanthropy that keeping his secret from her was paramount.

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet knows about me."

The colonel stared at him in shock. "You told a woman? Are you out of your mind, man? I thought you had foresworn love -- don't you see the danger you have put yourself in?"

"I believe she can be trusted."

"Even so -- though I very much doubt any woman can be trusted -- you have put her in danger as much as yourself! Are you besotted?"

"Quentin, you are jumping to conclusions. This has nothing to do with love." Here Darcy colored. "It was a mistake. She came upon Bingley and I just as we changed forms."

"She saw you become a dragon and she did not run away in fear to the nearest magistrate to report you?"

"Yes. No. I mean, she did not see me become a dragon. Quite the reverse. But, yes, she did not run away to report me, or even Bingley for that matter. And there is a regiment of the RWH stationed not far from her home. We quit Netherfield the very next day for fear we would have to go into hiding, but there have been no repercussions. I am assured she has told no one."

Colonel Fitzwilliam eyed his cousin closely. "Are you sure this has nothing to do with love?"

Darcy thought it best to avoid that issue. Miss Elizabeth Bennet had caused him many a sleepless night and not solely because of his fear she would report him. Strangely, deep down he had known she would not. There had been something in her eyes that first night, when he had flown past her window. Something that told him she had sympathy for his kind. The fact that she hadn't reported him only confirmed it.

"It has everything to do with her goodness," Darcy said at last, and the look upon his face when he said it confirmed his cousin's fears. Darcy was a lost man.

"I cannot wait to meet this paragon," said the colonel as he opened the gate and they walked up the path to the parsonage door, and made their presence known. "Don't you think this knocker is a wee bit high?"

Darcy didn't even hear the remark. His thoughts were elsewhere. How would she look when she saw him? He could not forget the state of undress he was in when they had last met. Thank the Lord for rhubarb! But still she had seen more of him than any delicately brought up female ought. He was afraid that he would be put to the blush as much as she.

They were ushered down a hallway with a positively vile shade of carpeting to a sunny room made light and pleasing by the profusion of spring blossoms that filled a number of well-placed urns. Elizabeth was employed in arranging the last of the blooms in a crystal vase. The yellow flowers so close to her face cast a glow upon her cheeks that only served to enhance her attractions. He wished he could see her eyes, but they were downcast and remained so throughout their greetings and the introduction of the colonel.

Colonel Fitzwilliam looked from one to the other with increasing interest. It was difficult to tell whom was the most flustered.

"Miss Bennet, I have heard much about you," he said jovially.

She cast a quick look up at him and then over to Darcy. Her face reddened discernibly and then she averted her eyes once again. "I hope you do not believe all that you hear, but judge people on their own merit," she said, finally.

"You imagine that what I heard was not complimentary?" he quizzed. And then he smiled a full smile that crinkled up his eyes. "Quite the contrary, I assure you. You have been praised in the highest terms."

Her eyes flew towards Mr Darcy again and he took the opportunity of speaking to her.

"Your family, Miss Bennet? They are all well?"

"Yes, thank you," she replied. "And your friends?"

"Mr Bingley and his sisters were in good health when I last saw them."

The colonel raised an eyebrow. Of all the insipid conversations! Could they not do better than that? He decided that maybe it was his presence that was hampering their conversational abilities, so he spent the next ten minutes entertaining his hostess and attempting to bring out her younger sister, while the parson looked on, adding an occasional grunt to the discourse. But his efforts were to no avail, so in the end he called upon Miss Bennet to support him in his contention that Mozart was the master that all other composers should seek to emulate, and spent the rest of the visit well pleased by her open manners and teasing wit.

Darcy stood between the wall and the window and contented himself with simply observing Miss Bennet, a small smile playing across his face every now and then.

"Don't distress yourself, my dear cousin," Mr. Collins said. "For you see that Lady Catherine and her daughter are far from expecting in others that distinction of dress that they claim for themselves. As long as you wear your best and it's clean, they will demand no more. On the contrary. Lady Catherine likes to have a certain distinction of rank preserved."

They were walking the broad Avenue towards Rosings, the many windows of the building shimmering in the evening sun. They'd been invited to dine at Rosings, a distinction that had Maria almost swooning with delight and had kept Lizzy up all night for quite different reasons.

Meeting Mr. Darcy had unsettled her, not the least because he didn't seem to exhibit the degree of shame she expected from someone who had been caught in such dreadful behavior. On the other hand, she wondered, perhaps she had been wrong? But how could she be wrong in what she'd seen with her very own eyes. Gentlemen didn't normally absent themselves from balls to go rolling around in the rhubarb plants with their friends. Unless something was very wrong with them indeed.

Lizzy realized that, absorbed in her unhappy thoughts, she'd gone all the way into Rosings and was even now in the process of bobbing a curtsey to Lady Catherine. The Lady received that mark of politeness with severely tightened lips. Anne de Bourgh leaned into Miss Jenkinson, who supported her. Behind, near the window, Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam were discussing something that involved expansive gestures like wings on the Colonel's part, and a sudden, hastily suppressed laugh on Mr. Darcy's. This shocked Lizzy terribly, as she didn't know Mr Darcy was capable of laughter. And as she approached to take a seat, she was further surprised to hear the Colonel say, "But you must agree, Darcy, that a bat would suit her to a T. Swoop down when you least expect her, tangle herself in you. Of course, bats are rarely orange."

"Quentin," Mr. Darcy said, laughter still in his voice. "I believe our guests have arrived and we're being rude." In the next minute both men had paid their obeisance and after a little frivolous talk, dinner was announced. Lizzy had the pleasure of being escorted to dinner on the Colonel's arm, and of sitting next to him and across from Mr. Darcy at the table. The food was good, in a solid, unimaginative way. Lizzy noted that Miss de Bourgh ate very little and coughed a good deal. The colonel ate a great deal and talked non-stop, mostly at Lizzy herself, though he often directed his pleasantries to the rest of the table. And Mr. Darcy talked not at all, but looked at Lizzy a great deal.

Lizzy wondered what particular blemish he found in her, that he stared at her so much. Certainly the man had no interest in, or at least disapproved of, all women, so she must be particularly irksome.

After dinner, partly to escape Lady Catherine's non-stop talk and never-ending stream of advice, Lizzy retired to the piano, whence Colonel Fitzwilliam followed her. She played desultorily while snatches of conversation from the drawing room reached her.

Lady Catherine was getting unpleasant about something. Lizzy couldn't quite make out the gist of it, but she thought it was related to Georgiana. "I always disapproved of your father's not leaving me with any say in her care. And in the event, you proved quite irresponsible. If it weren't for the fast work of the royal were hunters, she would now be betrothed to a were."

"Madam," Mr. Darcy said, his voice maybe reverential and maybe annoyed. It was impossible to tell.

"And I don't care if he was a Lord. Common, debased blood!"

"Madam."

"I daresay if I'd ever met him, I'd have known him straight away for the animal he was. I hear before they beheaded him he changed and roared fit to terrorize the town."

"Madam. That is nonsense. Sevrin--"

"Oh, Darcy, do not be tiresome. You don't mean to tell me you were there? You've always said it was a vulgar spectacle."

"Madam," Mr. Darcy said. And this time the voice sounded strained. Moments later, Mr. Darcy stalked into the piano room. He looked pale and his hands were shaking slightly.

He stood, for a moment, near the piano, looking at Lizzy's hands, but Lizzy was sure he didn't see anything. His eyes seemed unfocused. For the first time in a long while, Lizzy felt a wave of sympathy towards him. However he might have pretended that he supported the were laws, it was clear that he suffered greatly over his friend's death.

"It must be very hard," she said, softly. "When a were is caught and killed." In her mind there was an image of poor Jane being caught and brought to bay by a regiment in Were Hunters uniforms. She spoke even as her hands played upon the piano, and looked up to see both men staring at her, the colonel with a slightly amused expression that seemed quite out of keeping. An expression of confused amusement, if that made any sense. Meanwhile, Mr. Darcy was looking at her, his gaze softened.

"I just thought," Lizzy said, and blushed, "that when a were is killed, his friends and family are hardly given the time or the chance to mourn. Instead, no matter how good the person was, they are supposed to rejoice that a were has been caught."

"Yes," Mr. Darcy said, with some force. "Oh, yes." His hand that had been resting on the piano went up to his forehead and rested there, as if trying to erase a headache.

"Did you ever...?" The colonel cleared his throat. He seemed very amused by the exchange between Lizzy and Mr. Darcy and Lizzy was quite at a loss to know why. "Have you ever met a were, Miss Bennet?"

Why did he ask that as if he were laughing at something? Lizzy looked at Mr. Darcy to see if they were having a joke on her, then she shook her head and blushed. "No. I have never had that ... It never happened. But I have always thought that they are people like other people and that the good ones are good and the evil ones are evil."

"You are singular in that opinion," Fitzwilliam said, his gaze sharpened.

"I believe that people can't be judged for what they can't help being," Lizzy said and sighed. "All of us have... evil traits we must fight against. Sometimes I think those more severely afflicted are more worthy when they conquer."

"Sevrin was the best of men," Mr. Darcy said, his voice vibrating with such emotion that Lizzy did not know what to say. She looked up to see the gentleman looking at her with what, in another man, she would swear was an expression of pure adoration. She didn't know what to do, and was rescued by her embarrassment by Lady Catherine's sharp voice, "Of what are you speaking? I must have my share of the conversation. I must."

"I was merely," Mr. Darcy said, and cleared his throat. "Complimenting Miss Bennet on her piano playing. I have rarely heard something that gave me more pleasure."

"She doesn't play badly," Lady Catherine said. "But to be a true proficient, she must practice more. She should come and practice on the pianoforte in Miss Jenkinson's rooms. She'd be in no one's way in that part of the house."

At this, Lizzy had to smile to herself, and while Lady Catherine went on expounding on her great love of music, Lizzy played more to herself than to the gentlemen. At any rate, after a while she looked up and noticed that Colonel Fitzwilliam had vanished and only Mr. Darcy remained, leaning against the doorframe and looking at her with an inscrutable expression.

As she met his eyes, he grinned. "You must know, Miss Bennet, that you have very decided opinions for one so young."

His unconscious mimicry -- or had he guessed those words, or some very similar, had already been used to her by his aunt? -- discomfited her, and she rose quickly and curtseyed. She crossed the drawing room, avoiding Lady Catherine's attempt at conversation. Mr. Collins was ooking reverentially to some long speech of the Lady's. To Charlotte's enquiry, Lizzy said, "I believe I must go out for a breath of air. I feel a headache coming on."

Out in the garden, she walked about for a while, keeping -- for she had learned her lesson -- to the well lighted paths, the ones ornamented with fountains and statues. Which was why, as she rounded a massive fountain in classical style, she was shocked to hear voices from the shrubbery.

To be exact, she was surprised to hear Anne de Bourgh's seldom-raised voice saying with some feeling, "Oh, how I wish that Darcy were married!"

She was answered by the colonel's amused laughter.

"No, only listen to me. Until he's married, my mother will not give up the ridiculous idea that I should marry him."

The colonel sighed. "She would change it fast enough if she knew what he was."

"Yes," Anne said. "But I don't hate Darcy. I merely do not wish to enter into what must be, perforce, a loveless match." She was silent a while. "Only I wish he didn't spend quite so much time with Mr. Bingley."

"No," the Colonel said. "Bingley and Darcy shouldn't spend so much time together. It can't be good for either of them."

They were silent a while longer and... was that the sound of kisses? Lizzy started retracing her steps to the house, her cheeks burning, but the voices recommenced.

"You procured the replacement for the tonic, right?" Anne asked.

"Of course, and the exact same color."

"Thank you. If it weren't for you I'd still be taking the horrible stuff mama gives me. I don't know if it retarded my womanhood, but it made me sick enough."

"What I don't understand," the Colonel said, "is why she wished to retard your womanhood. And still does."

Anne sighed. "Can you not? She's afraid I'll become a were. And it's no use telling her that at twenty-two I'd already have become one, if it were to happen. She thinks she's stopping it with her awful tonic." Another pause. "She never forgave papa for being a bear, you know?"

Lizzy could not believe it. Had she heard it right? Had Mr. De Bourgh been a bear? She ran all the way to the house as silently as she could, vowing to never walk near shrubbery again.

Chapter Eight

Posted on Friday, 7 April 2006

Lizzy didn't give any more thought to what she'd heard in the shrubbery. She'd decided that the whole Darcy family and connections were very odd and there was no point at all dwelling on it. And she felt only a slight needle of annoyance that Mr. Darcy could be so sympathetic in his grief for Lord Sevrin. And had he really meant to betroth his sister to Sevrin? Surely, at the time, he could not have known what the Lord was.

On this conviction she slept soundly and woke up rested the next morning, before any of the household was up. She dressed and went for a walk, and when she came back, she found that everyone in the household was still asleep, except for the servants. Lizzy repaired to the parlor, where she started a letter to Jane.

"Miss," the parlor maid said, bobbing a curtsey. "Mr. Darcy, to see you."

Lizzy thought the visit was odd at such a time, but what could she do but assent to it? "Pray tell him that Mr. and Mrs. Collins are not yet up."

"I have, ma'am, but he wishes to see you."

"Oh, very well, send him in," Lizzy replied with ill grace.

Mr. Darcy came in, perfectly attired in his morning coat, holding hat and gloves in hand. He bowed to her. "I pray you forgive me, Miss Bennet," he said, "for coming in so early in the morning. But surely you must understand that I... It is sometimes safer if I don't sleep... If I don't let my guard down during the night at Rosings. My aunt being as she is. And therefore, I thought... Well, it must be clear to you I've been doing a lot of thinking."

Clear as the blackest mud, thought Lizzy, but she nodded, in any case.

Instead of responding, the very odd man then started pacing back and forth across the room. Since the room was not nearly wide enough for the length of his legs, this meant he took three steps one way, ducked around Charlotte's ridiculous little table with the ornate vase of dubious Chinese design upon it, then took another three steps, stopping just short of running into the mirror, and then did an about face and paced the other way again.

"Mr. Darcy..." Lizzy said, thinking to make some excuse about having to go upstairs or possibly being needed in the kitchen to help with breakfast.

But he turned to her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips and his jade-green eyes filled with an unfathomable expression that -- in anyone else -- she would have said was sweetness.

"Please, forgive me, Miss Bennet," he said. "This is not a question I ever thought I would be asking, nor believed I would ever have occasion to ask." He resumed pacing and looked decidedly above her head as he spoke. "You see, I had long ago resigned myself to the idea that Georgiana's children would one day inherit Pemberley."

Was the man truly about to tell her that he had no interest in women? "Mr Darcy," she said, again, in a tone that she hoped was of warning.

"No, please listen to me. Please listen, for I have to speak. My cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, told me already that it is most risky for a... for one like me to confide in anyone, least of all a woman. But indeed, ever since the ball at Netherfield, when you penetrated my secret and did not in any way... And did not denounce me..." As he spoke, Darcy continued to pace about the room -- three long steps -- detour around the vase -- three long steps. "I've known since then that you are the best of all women and that I can rely upon your kindness and goodness as in no other. As, indeed, I thought I could never rely on anyone, male or female, who was not similarly afflicted." He paused and directed an uncertain look at her, before staring at a point above her head, straightening his shoulders and putting his hands -- still holding gloves and hat -- behind his back, as if he were on parade upon some martial ground. "Please, don't make me wait for an answer. Please, I beg you to relieve my suffering."

Lizzy stared, trying to prevent her mouth from opening into an unbecoming look of bewilderment. She ran his words through her head, but she could not make head or tail of what he meant. "I beg your pardon, Mr. Darcy," she said. "But I have not the pleasure of understanding you."

He looked startled, and chuckled a little to himself. "It is possible I am not expressing myself very clearly," he said. And to her everlasting horror, he knelt at her feet, and set his hat and gloves aside and struggled to capture her hand.

"Kindest, loveliest Elizabeth, will you do me the honor of being my wife and the mistress of Pemberley?"

She could not have been more shocked had Mr. Darcy actually changed shape into a lion -- or perhaps a dog -- right before her eyes. For many minutes she was unable to utter a word.

He looked up, in confusion, and finally stood and resumed his pacing. "Oh, I know what the world will say. The inequality of our connections. Your family's occasional total lack of propriety. Even perhaps the difference in our fortunes. But you must understand all that is as nothing to me. Nothing, compared to having a wife who understands me and who is willing to overlook my... eccentricity."

At this she could contain herself no longer. "I would not call it an eccentricity, sir. In fact, I would call it something very much more to the point. Something in fact, which could mar any attempt at a married life."

He blinked at her. "Hardly," he said. "Really, I have great control over myself. Oh, I know it might not have looked like that in Hertfordshire. Something about your proximity, perhaps..." He shook his head. "For I have to admit that my feelings for you were of the most violent even then. But once..." He swallowed. "Once we are settled, I presume that it will resolve back into the pattern it has followed since my adolescence. In fact, it should bother me two or three nights a month, no more. The rest of the time, I should be a perfectly normal husband to you."

"Normal?" Was he truly telling her that his disgraceful behavior with Mr. Bingley had been instigated by his feelings towards her? It was too much. Even in all her reading, Lizzy had never come across anything quite that strange.

He sighed. "Well, you must know it doesn't transmit to the children. Or not that way. Oh, our great-grandchild might show it, but it is highly unlikely our child would. Both my parents were perfectly normal. As were my grandparents and great grandparents. But if you truly would object to children, if you'd truly be afraid of their inheriting my defect, there are ways... I beg you to believe, Miss Bennet, that I, of all people, am perfectly aware of the phases of the moon."

Lizzy managed to find her voice. "And you think Mr. Bingley wouldn't object to this arrangement?"

Mr. Darcy paused in his pacing and stared at her. "What has Bingley to do with it?"

"Well, while I realize it is not a formal connection, as your lover, he might think himself entitled to having a say in your nearest concerns."

"As my..." Mr. Darcy frowned. His hand went back to hold onto the table. "Miss Bennet... did I hear you quite well? Did you say that Charles is my... lover?"

"Oh, Mr. Darcy. It is hardly worth your dissembling. While I was staying at Netherfield, I saw you holding him, in the most affectionate of embraces, in the library and telling him -- very commendably -- to control his urges. However, your fortitude must have eluded you, as I found you both naked in the rhubarb on the night of the ball."

"Naked. Rhubarb," he said. And his lips were twitching most alarmingly, in such a fashion that she thought at any minute the man might start crying. He blinked at her. "You thought..." He cleared his throat, and his voice had a strained quality. "Pardon my asking, Miss Bennet, but how did a delicately brought up young lady come to know of the possibility of such connections?"

She felt a blush climb to her cheeks but she answered, nonetheless, "My father has an excellent library and has never limited my reading. I have read the works of Greek philosophers and the history of Rome."

"I see," Mr. Darcy said. He moved his hand backward, as if to seek better support upon the table. "Greek philosophers. And did you perhaps wonder, Miss Bennet, why in a house with several good beds, even the most desperate and lost of men would resort to a bed of... rhubarb?"

"I... I thought not on it," Lizzy said, blushing. "But if I did I'd have presumed you'd have thought the risk of discovery smaller upon... the rhubarb."

He straightened himself. His lips were now twisting in a mad rictus that she couldn't quite read. "I see. You are indeed right, we did think that, fools that we were."

Lizzy's look of shock increased. Why, he was laughing at her! "First you make me an offer designed to offend and insult me, and then you laugh in my face whilst supporting your base behavior! And if this was not enough, if you had not insulted myself and my family in the worst way possible, there is still your treatment of Mr Wickham to answer for!"

"You take an eager interest in that gentleman," said Darcy, trembling, as his hand gripped the table ever harder.

"Anyone who knows his history would. Mr Wickham has been forced into a career that he has no liking for, and all because of you. Can you refute that you not only denied him the set of colors that had been bequeathed to him in your father's will, but you also made it so no regiment in the King's army would have him? He was even witness to your shocking behavior while at Cambridge. And still, you have the audacity to ask me to marry you, though you are such a man! Your arrogance and depravity have forged the groundwork of so deep and immovable a dislike for your person that I can honestly say you are the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry."

"And this is what you think of me," Mr. Darcy said. "And I... fool that I am..." He bowed to her. "I beg your pardon for having taken up your time. You've made your feelings quite clear to me, madam. Now I have only to be ashamed of what mine have been." A final flourish with his hand, backward, sent the Chinese vase crashing and failed to so much as make him flinch. "I beg your pardon. Please accept my wishes for your health and happiness."

He stepped out of the room, banging the door behind him with such force that the house shook to its foundations. From upstairs, Lizzy heard startled screams, and stunned, she scrambled blindly up from her seat, grabbed her bonnet and was out the door, running.

Darcy walked away quickly without giving any thought to his direction. He went through the parsonage gate to the park and was soon deep in Rosings' home woods. His initial laugher at the ludicrous accusation that he and Bingley were lovers had died a death so terrible that he was finding it difficult to breathe. The reality of the situation now weighed heavy upon him. She believed him debased, depraved, debauched -- disgusting. And he had thought . . . how could he have been so wrong!

There were times when Darcy truly loved his were capabilities -- loved soaring through the sky upon his dragon wings and playing on air currents in the beautiful silver light of the full moon -- but at all other times he believed himself cursed. Now, after suffering such a scathing rejection, he knew he was thrice cursed. He would never live a day without some fear for his life in the back of his mind, he would never have the love of the one woman in the world he had lost his heart to, and he would never live a normal life -- father a child -- have grandchildren. Would that he had died at birth! It would have been more humane than to be forced to live a life without hope.

She did not love him. Could never love him. She had not, as he had believed, kept the secret of his lycanthrope existence. She had not protected him. Instead she had hidden what she considered a secret too vile to name. His face burned in remembrance of that night and the thought that she could have entertained such . . . outrageous an idea about himself and Bingley.

His heart burned. He was foolish indeed to have fallen in love with her. Her upbringing must have been sadly lacking. How could her father have introduced books with such perverse ideas to his own daughter? That she should see him and Bingley together, admittedly naked, and jump to such a conclusion, when the natural conclusion would be . . . Darcy shook his head. What would the natural conclusion be? Even for a delicately nurtured female. Why, dogs in the street . . . but still, he was a gentleman, not an animal. And so too was Bingley. Surely the thought of weres would come first?

Darcy sat at the base of a great oak and leaned back against the trunk, barely resisting the urge to bang his head against it. He sighed. There was more to his hurt and anger than Elizabeth's rejection of him. He had to admit that it pained him deeply she would think such a thing about him. That he was attracted to men, and not women. It was a cruel blow to his pride, and his manhood. Oh, he knew that in some circles such activities were not frowned upon at all, and he had acquaintances in the peerage who took lovers of their own sex. But he had never had such inclinations, and had never before been taken for a person who would.

But his despair went much deeper than that. He surmised that Elizabeth had believed the worst she could of him -- did this mean that the idea of shape shifting was so incredibly distasteful to her that she had not even considered him quite that degenerate? He had previously thought her sympathetic to his plight as a were, but that, obviously, was an illusion. He threw his head in his hands and ravaged his hair as waves of self-pity washed over him.

And then he realized how pointless all his wallowing was.

She had rejected him, yes. She hated him, yes. But did it have to end there? Was there not a way he could at least reclaim himself in her eyes, so that she did not think poorly of him? Could he not find some means to assure her that he and Bingley were simply friends and that there was a logical explanation for their unorthodox attire that evening. If rhubarb leaves could be called attire. Could he not appeal to her sense of justice that she trust his word in this?

And could he not tell her some small part of his history with Wickham so that she would not be taken in by any more of his lies? She was too poor for Wickham to be interested in marriage, but he knew Wickham usually had something other than marriage in mind and had no compunction when it came to compromising young ladies of virtue. He had to put aside his pride, his dreams and desires and protect Elizabeth from such an outcome.

Darcy took a healing breath and stood up, looking around to get his bearings. He knew not how he had come to be so deep in the woods, but at least he was familiar enough with his aunt's estate to have no problem finding his way back to the house. The pain of unrequited love still burned through his veins but at least now he once again had purpose and direction. He ran his hand through his hair to tidy it, set his shoulders, and strode back in the direction from which he had come.

Lizzy had walked quite a while, not sure how or in what direction until, in a grove, she came across Colonel Quentin Fitzwilliam. Lizzy curtseyed hastily and was about to turn around, when he advanced towards her.

"Please, Miss Bennet. I have been walking the grove for some time in the hope of meeting you."

Her heart sank on the words. First, she was proposed to by an orangutan. Then by a man drawn to rhubarb beds and the company of his university friends. And now, what was about to befall her? Would she be solicited by the lover of Anne de Bourgh? Could she not elicit any normal love from normal men?

"Do not be afraid, ma'am," the Colonel said. "I merely wish to speak to you."

Lizzy hesitated. After all, Mr. Darcy had only wanted to speak.

"It is about my cousin, Darcy," the Colonel said. "And... and what you might have heard in the Rosings shrubbery last night."

"What I heard..." Lizzy shook her head. "What I heard is none of my concern, Colonel. I beg you to believe that I have better judgment than to concern myself with--"

"But, Miss Bennet, you must see that I wish to talk. Anne and I realized... we heard a noise and looked out and we think you might be the solution to our problems."

"Colonel, I hardly think--"

"Please, let me talk. Please, walk with me a while and let me talk."

She really could not respond against such a vehement plea, except perhaps by running off in a most insane way, which she was not willing to do. Not yet. Though the time might come.

Dear mama, she composed in her mind, as she walked beside the colonel. Having rejected the proposal of our beloved cousin, were orangutan rev. Collins and withstood the need to accept a proposal from the scandalous Mr. Darcy, I was bound to succumb eventually. You will be glad to know I am ready to close with Colonel Quentin Fitzwilliam's offer. Myself, the Colonel and his paramour, Anne de Bourgh, shall move into a county estate on --

"You must see, Miss Bennet, that the only hope remaining to me and Miss de Bourgh is that Mr. Darcy will marry. And from what I've seen, you've quite captured his heart."

"Colonel, I--"

"Please, listen. I understand you might be a little hesitant, but I am bound to believe you have some tender feelings for him. After all, when having seen him change back from a dragon you did not then denounce him to the Royal Were Hunters."

"Colonel, I didn't -- change back from a dragon?" Lizzy's mind caught up with her mouth on a slow arc. The dragon, flying outside her window at Longbourn came to her mind. The dragon. Those eyes. Those amazing green eyes. Mr. Darcy.

"Oh, you don't have to dissemble with me, Miss Bennet. I was there the first time Darcy changed, and my uncle, George Darcy, swore me to secrecy and also to protect my cousin. I will have you know I am very devoted to Darcy. And as such I thought it incumbent upon me to tell you... I know you might have hesitated otherwise, but I should let you know -- Darcy is as gentle and... well, honorable, in his dragon form as in his human form. I have spent time around both, and let me assure you that..."

In Lizzy's mind the picture assembled of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley. Naked in the Rhubarb. Jane, naked under her window at Longbourn. The moon in the sky the night of the Netherfield ball. Mr. Bingley's urges. Oh, I've been fantastical. I've been blind. I determined to dislike Mr. Darcy from the beginning and I put the worst of all constructions on his actions.

"Mr. Bingley is a were..." Lizzy prompted in what seemed to be a lull in the Colonel's speech.

"Oh, you didn't catch him in his other shape? He's a weredog. In the dark, in certain lights, people might think him a wolf, but he's a weredog, really. A beautiful hunting dog."

There's another like me I've been running with at night Jane's voice sounded in Lizzy's mind. He watched over me when I was recovering.

"Oh, Jane, Jane."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing, Colonel, nothing. Only... my sister likes hunting dogs." She caught the strange look the Colonel gave her and sighed. "I'm sorry. This is all too much to take in. Was it why, then, Mr. Darcy was so broken up over Lord Sevrin?"

"Well, that and they met at university. Bound to. Weres find each other, you know. Icarus Sevrin was... One of the best men I have ever met. It's still hard to believe him dead. It took Georgiana most horribly, you know? She was very attached to him. Partly, I think, hero worship. But Darcy had said if feelings subsisted and if Sevrin still found her the paragon of all virtues when Georgiana turned twenty, they could marry and have his blessing. And Sevrin and Georgiana suited. They are both very shy. We still think Whickam turned him in. For the reward money."

"Mr. Darcy was willing to let his sister marry a were?"

"Why not? The trait is not inherited that simply. We don't know where it comes from in the Darcy family, but it must be an ancestor lost in the mists of time."

my parents were normal

I beg you to believe I have some reason to be aware of the phases of the moon.

"Are you well, Miss Bennet? You've gone most awfully pale."

"I am well. Just a sudden headache. Perhaps I've walked too far today."

"Then allow me to walk you back to the parsonage."

I've wounded a kind man already suffering under a severe blow of fate. I've wounded someone who hoped only for acceptance from me. I've treated his hopes for the future with scorn.

In her mind, Lizzy saw the dragon flying free. And those huge, sad eyes. Was she in love with him? She didn't think so.

And yet...

I can't stand the idea of his flying in the world and thinking ill of me.

Chapter Nine

Posted on Tuesday, 18 April 2006

The day went by in a blur. If anyone had asked Lizzy where she was or what she'd been doing, she could not have answered. It was with some sense of relief that she found they were not expected at Rosings for dinner or even for after dinner entertainment. After dinner at the parsonage, she could go upstairs to the bed and sink into it with a sense of well merited repose.

And yet, sleep did not come. She lay in her bed, looking at the closet door but not thinking at all of the convenient shelves within. Instead, all the images in her mind were of Mr. Darcy. Mr Darcy, his face open and sincere, kneeling at her feet asking her to be his wife. Mr Darcy struggling to discuss his affliction with oblique references. Mr Darcy laughing at her assumption that he and Bingley were lovers. Mr Darcy, his face frozen at the sound of Wickham's name. The pain in his eyes at her rejection. His bitter goodbye.

Vivid images ran through her mind of his lean, naked body gilded by the moon, in that rhubarb patch the night of the Netherfield ball. Then there were memories of the dragon -- powerful, sensuous, brilliant in the dark sky - his eyes filled with longing and loss.

Most of all, through the night, Lizzy's mind gave her a dispirinting picture of her own shortcomings. How could she have misjudged Mr Darcy so? How could she, with all her experience sheltering dear Jane, have not connected all the clues she had been given to the obvious conclusion- that Darcy and Bingley were weres? Instead she had jumped to instant dislike of him because she had chosen to take offense at his comments at the assembly - comments of a private nature that she'd had no right to listen to at all. It was too easy to misconstrue clandestine information, especially if one's vanity was hurt by it. She admonished herself again and again for being so insupportably shallow.

Still, she realized through the long night, that she had no idea what her true feelings for Mr Darcy were, or his for her. Oh, she had no doubt he hated the sight of her now, but why had he even wished to marry her? He had said that his feelings for her were violent, enough to disrupt his control over shifting. The only other time he had mentioned his feelings was to say that he need only be ashamed of what they had been. But, in truth, what had they been? His cousin the colonel had said that she had captured Darcy's heart, but Mr Darcy had made no mention of that. The word love had not passed his lips.

So, why had he wished to marry her, despite the fact that with his affliction marriage could, potentially, put his life in danger? She thought back upon all that he had said. Things that made no sense at the time now struck her strongly. ". . . you penetrated my secret and did not in any way . . . And did not denounce me . . . I can rely upon your kindness and goodness . . . a wife who understands me and who is willing to overlook my... eccentricity."

Somehow, he had come to believe that she could be trusted to be a supporting wife, honoring his secret and protecting him from discovery. This due, no doubt, to the fact that she had not reported him and Bingley immediately upon finding them naked in the rhubarb - something that he had believed could only be interpreted in one way. And also the compassion she had shown in all the discussions of Lord Sevrin's sad fate.

Was that all? Was Mr. Darcy so bereft of understanding and compassion that these inspired him to propose marriage?

No - he had spoken of violent feelings which disrupted his equilibrium. Had he meant love, then? Lizzy chided herself for being naive to even suppose so. Her readings had taught her that there were other powerful feelings raised by women in a man's breast that little involved love. And, thinking back upon the scene in the rhubarb, she was afraid she understood them all too well.

Were mutual respect and physical attraction enough reason to propose marriage? It appeared Mr Dacy thought so. She did not think the worse for him because of that. From what he had said it was very apparent that he desired an heir. It was most natural for him to strive for normalcy when he was condemned to live such an unnatural life.

But now, of course, all that was finished. She did not need to worry about him renewing his offers, which, though her feelings towards him had done a complete about face, were still unwanted. Only the deepest love would tempt her into matrimony.

But she did want to redeem herself in his eyes. She did want to show him that she did not hold him in distaste because he shifted form. That his secret was safe with her. And she desperately wanted him to know that her dislike of him had not been immoveable.

Finally, as dawn was breaking in the east, she fell into a light, restless sleep. Her dreams did her no more good that her nighttime deliberations had, and she awoke with a throbbing head and dark circles under her eyes. She dressed quickly, ate a light breakfast with Charlotte and Maria, and then excused herself to go for a walk in the park. The day was already becoming warm, but she knew where to find cool, shady groves that she hoped would soon help her clear her head.

Darcy had fared no better than Lizzy that night. He had barely kept himself in check, the urge to fly past her bedroom window had been so strong. But his hopes in her had been shattered by her adamant refusal. In all the times he had thought of her, conflicting emotions warring in his breast, he had never considered what her feelings for him might be. He had supposed she would be anticipating his proposal. What vanity!

After breakfast he had only two thoughts - to get out of the house and away from his aunt's penetrating eye, and to find Elizabeth and apprize her of Wickham's true character. Improving her opinion of his own character was a desired outcome as well, especially when it came to his amorous predilections, but this was not his admitted objective.

He walked towards the parsonage through the park, annoyed that his emotions were still in such turmoil. His determination to talk to Elizabeth was becoming undermined by his bitterness at her rejection of him and his despair in losing her. His love mingled with hurt and anger. And though it was not night and there was no moon to affect him, a familiar fire coursed through his body, singeing all his defenses and causing little plumes of smoke to furl every now and then from his flared nostrils.

He turned off the path into a stand of elms, intent on holding his feelings in check before having to face Elizabeth in the parsonage parlor again. He was brought to a standstill at the sight of Elizabeth standing in the half shadow of the feathered branches, leaves just beginning to unfurl on their tips. If she had not seen him he would have backed away immediately, but she was looking right at him, her eyes unreadable dark circles in a pale face.

"Excuse me, Miss Bennet. I had not supposed you to be . . . I do not mean to intrude. I shall leave directly."

"No, Mr Darcy. Indeed, it is I who am in your way. This is your aunt's park, after all."

"And you are welcome to walk in it wherever you choose."

"Thank you," said Elizabeth softly. And then she raised her eyes, which she had lowered in the first few flustered moments, to his. "I am sure the park is big enough that we can both walk together for a few minutes."

This generous offer gave Darcy a moment of hope. He had expected to be the last person she would be willing to spend time with, considering her dislike of him and the embarrassing circumstances of their prior meeting.

"In truth, I came out in the hopes of speaking to you," he said.

She blushed slightly and he inwardly cursed himself for being a fool.

"Do not be afraid that I wish to repeat any of those sentiments that were so disgusting to you yesterday."

She nodded her head and stood, waiting for him to continue but giving him no encouragement at all. There was nothing for it but to blunder on.

"I wanted to assure you of my friendship with Mr Bingley. That it is nothing more than just that. Friendship."

"I understand completely, Mr Darcy."

"There are other . . . legitimate reasons for our . . . state of undress, which . . ."

"That is quite all right."

"In Bingley's case it is not my . . . secret to tell. But believe me when I say that it was a perfectly natural and harmless incident."

"I do know what a trial such . . . things can be, and how situations of . . . nudity can happen . . . unawares. I am sorry that I intruded upon your privacy."

"There is no need to apologize, Miss Bennet. It is I who must apologize for the state of undress . . . it was a great shock to you and there is no forgiving it."

"I forgive you, Mr Darcy. I know it was beyond your control."

Darcy stared at Elizabeth. He had hardly expected more than forbearance on her part, but this . . . this was further proof of her kind and just nature. Her color heightened under his intense gaze and he was brought back to the present by the realization that he was discomposing her. Staring in such a manner right after referring to her seeing him naked. He could kick himself for behaving like such an insensitive buffoon! He decided it would be best not to refer to the incident again.

"Thank you. But this was not the topic I had wished to discuss with you. There is something of a much more imperative nature."

Was he wrong or did he notice tensing in her shoulders? A drawing back of warmth?

"It concerns Mr Wickham."

"Mr Wickham!"

"Yes. I know you take an . . . interest in the . . . gentleman. I have no wish to offend you, but -"

"I am not offended."

"He is not the man you think him to be."

"I think I now have a good idea of who he is."

He was surprised that her tone was apologetic rather than antagonistic. He had expected her to jump in defense of her favorite. Maybe he was not too late. Maybe Wickham had not yet captured her heart.

"The two of us have quite a past."

"I have been informed as such," she said, gently.

"Yes," he said, hoping that she would still listen with such complaisance once he got going, "but I have always thought it beneath my dignity to reveal to anyone just what sort of a man he is. I cannot have him deceive you any longer. I know I can never aspire to . . . but I will make no mention of my feelings in this case . . . Mr Wickham is not to be trusted."

"I have had information from someone other than him."
Darcy continued on, disregarding her words in his haste to finally get out what had been bottled inside him for so long. "He plays fast and loose with ladies' hearts. He is involved in all manner of vice. I saw all this while we were in Cambridge together and I . . . I could not bear to have you taken in by him. There is more that I cannot bring myself to reveal. Suffice to say that he treated those nearest and dearest to me with the vilest form of treachery."

"Treachery!"

Darcy was again afraid she would come to Wickham's defense, but if he mentioned the part he knew Wickham to have played in Sevrin's capture, he might be driven to reveal all about Wickham. No matter that Wickham was a coward and a traitor and that he would stab Darcy in the back the first chance he got, they had made a pact. And as a man pf honor he could not break the pact. Wickham's secret was safe with him.

"Indeed. I hope you will give my words some credence."

"Have you no faith in my judgement?"

"I know you to have been severely imposed upon."

"Mr Darcy, please. Since yesterday my thoughts . . . my thoughts -"

Darcy could well imagine what her thoughts had been. And here he was callously bringing up the previous day and reminding her of his most unacceptable offer and the ungracious way he had comported himself. He needed to show to her that he knew how to behave in a gentlemanlike manner. And the best way to do that now would be to depart and leave her alone to assimilate all that he had said. And hopefully then she would see his character in a better light, and Wickham's in the darkness it deserved.

"I am sorry to have imposed on you for so long. I will go now and give you the solitude you must be desiring." The look of confusion and regret evident upon her face touched him deeply, and in a soft adieu he said, "God bless you," then made his way out of the copse without a backward glance.

That evening they were to go to Rosings, and Lizzy struggled against an impulse to call it off, to say she had to rest, that her headache hadn't abated. But she could not. If she avoided him now, she thought, he would think she still thought badly of him.

So she found herself sitting at Rosings, while Lady Catherine expounded on weres and their perverse debasement, and Colonel Fitzwilliam and Anne De Bourgh disappeared -- who knew where? Her cough echoed from the ends of the garden, Lizzy thought.

"I have a great desire for some music," Mr. Darcy said, after a long time of looking out the window.

"Well, I'm sure Miss Bennet will be glad to oblige you," Lady Catherine said. "Of course, she doesn't play as well as Anne would have, if she'd ever learned. But with a little practice she could be quite tolerable."

Smiling at the thought that at least one member of this family thought she would tolerable -- she supposed -- Lizzy got up and went to the piano forte, where she played, desultorily, through an easy selection.

She half-hoped and half-dreaded Mr. Darcy's getting up and joining her, turning the pages for her as she played. But he did, shortly after she started.

He turned the pages for a while, and silence lengthened between them, till he spoke, "My sister Georgiana loves music. I think she would love to make your acquaintance."

"I would be very pleased to make hers," Lizzy said, trying only to sound pleasing and obliging after the horrible way she'd treated him.

"She needs taking care of. She's lately had a very great shock."

"Yes... Yes... your friend... Lord..."

"Oh, not..." Darcy lowered his voice. "Not what he was, you understand Miss Bennet. Of that... she knew." He looked at her, as though daring her to say that they'd been in contravention of the law. Lizzy had no intentions of saying any such thing. Instead, she nodded.

"But his death has left her... bereft."

"And unable to acknowledge her grief publicly," Lizzy said, thinking that then neither could her brother.

"Yes. Yes..."

Silence fell again for a while, but when Lizzy left to go to the parsonage, she had the impression that both had spoken whole speeches and understood each other much better.

And that night she woke, late in the deep dark, with a sense of being watched.

Turning in her bed she saw, outside her window... It was the dragon, sinuous and graceful and agile, his eyes filled with a sweet sorrow she only half understood. It was beating its wings just a little, to keep itself in place -- the wings shimmering like a fluttering of captive fire.

She should have been outraged but she was not. Instead, she felt an outpouring of sweetness. The poor thing -- she thought, quite forgetting the thing was a gentleman, and a proud and wealthy one at that -- the poor thing had been horribly mistreated. Getting up, she put her dressing gown on, and rushed to the window.

She threw it open, and had time to see the dragon startle and flinch, as if afraid she would give the alarm. But when she made no sound, it extended its muzzle, timidly.

Lizzy couldn't help herself. She put her hand out and touched it to the green-gold skin, just beside the eyes. She expected cold, but it wasn't. It was warm as her own body, and velvet soft.

The huge eyes registered surprise -- no, shock -- followed by something she couldn't describe. The eyelids half closed and a sound emerged from the huge curved neck -- something between a sigh and a purr.

She didn't know how long she stayed that way, nor how or when he'd left. She woke the next morning in her bed, though, and felt as though she'd slept long and well.

She'd touched him. Darcy woke with the certainty of it. Oh, he was very bad to have changed. And he was sure that his aunt would soon be talking of the positive infestation of dragons in the countryside. But Miss Bennet had touched him...

While his valet fussed over the selection of a morning coat, Mr. Darcy touched his hand to the place on his face where it seemed to him he still felt the warmth of her hand. She'd touched him. Oh, she'd touched him in dragon form. But that only made it more significant. She hadn't cried. She hadn't been scared. Was it possible she knew? Was that why she'd been so tender. But how could she know? And if she knew - what did her tenderness signify?

He was still lost in thought, pondering just what her touch might have meant, when he joined his cousins and aunt at the breakfast table.

"Darcy! Do not hover like that over the sideboard, choosing your dishes. Serve yourself some braised kidneys and come and sit down," ordered his aunt.

Darcy chose two pieces of toast and a spoonful of strawberry preserve and took a seat beside the colonel.

"Late night?"

Darcy shook his head and then nodded.

"Not safe, you know. And the moon's not all that full.
What happened to your control - must I take to sleeping with you?"

"It was worth it," whispered Darcy.

"Ahh - young love," said Quentin, and sighed in an exaggerated manner. Anne giggled.

"It was nothing like that!" Darcy blushed.

"I am happy that you have finally found a lady who cares for you," said Anne sweetly.

"What has Darcy found?" asked Lady Catherine. "Do not talk in such low voices - I must have my share of the conversation!"

"It is more what he has not found," said Quentin, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. "Not a kidney to be seen upon his plate."

"And I expressly recommended the kidneys! There are no better braised kidneys to be found in all of England than what come from my kitchens."

"Anne," said Darcy quietly, "Do not . . . I think you are . . . mistaken."

"That she cares for you though she knows of your . . . changeability?"

"She knows not"

"But, you said she did not report you when she had seen the change."

"I was mistaken . . . she thought . . . it is immaterial what she thought, but I could not bring myself to tell her because it involves Bingley as well."

Quentin looked over. "I don't see that as a problem."

"So, if your friend had a secret, you'd divulge it, Quentin?"

"Only if I thought by divulging the secret I could contribute materially to my friend's happiness."

Mr. Darcy's eyebrow rose. "Indeed?" he asked, as he helped himself to the ham. "And who is to be the judge of that happiness? Or the risk of revealing the secret."

"Oh, come, Darcy, you can't think you..."

Mr. Darcy's eyebrow rose further.

Quentin Fitzwilliam was overcome by a sudden attack of coughing. "I mean... I'd only reveal it if I were absolutely sure there was no risk."

"You, Quentin, are terribly cavalier with other people's secrets."

"He's cavalier with his chewing too," Anne said. "Almost choked himself to death.

"I do not understand," said Lady Catherine. "What is all this talk of secrets and cavaliers not chewing their food properly?"

"It is a new play that is all the rage in London, Mama," said Anne sweetly.

"It sounds preposterous! Playwrights these days! William Shakespeare will be turning in his grave!"

"Tell me," said Darcy, behind the screen of his aunt and Anne's conversation, "have you been divulging secrets not your own to anyone lately?"

"I did not suppose it to be a secret, at least not from that lady," said Quentin. "And she was most interested and understanding of all I said."

"She was not . . . astonished? Disgusted?"

"Darcy - the lady is clearly infatuated with you. She saw you change and did not run away screaming. In fact, from what I can surmise, she had a good look at your . . ." He grinned and winked in an annoyingly lascivious way.

"Your mind is in the gutter," said Darcy, his eyebrows arrowing towards his nose. "What exactly did you say to her?"

"Say?" Quentin asked innocently. "Only that you were honorable and gentle in your dragon form, despite what appearances might have led her to believe."

"Blast you, Quentin! I do not want her pity! Could you not have left it to me?" ‘Not that I did any better of a job,' Darcy reflected, ‘considering what a disaster my proposal was'. His face darkened.

"Oh, there is no talking to you in this mood, Darce. You always act the fool the day after your flights..." And in response to a dangerously quirked brow, "of fancy."

Lady Catherine turned away from her conversation with Anne suddenly, and interjected. "Very true. Darcy was always fanciful. Even as a child. I only hope Anne will steady him."

"I know no one steadier than Anne M'am," Quentin said.

"It comes from her pure blood," Lady Catherine said, complacently. No were blood at all."

"Ah yes, the bluer the blood, the better the stock!"

Darcy looked directly at his aunt. His mood had not lightened in the least. "Madam," he said stiffly. "I beg you will desist from your illusion that Anne and I will one day wed. You must know that it will never be." With that he rose from the table, shoving the plate with his uneaten breakfast aside. "Before long we will both choose for ourselves, and there is nothing you can do about it."

Lady Catherine stared at him in horror as he stalked out of the room. "Whatever did you say to put him in such a mood, Quentin?"

Darcy heard his aunt's last words as the door closed behind him. Did his cousin's indiscreet revelation really deserve such an angry reaction? He wasn't entirely sure. He felt cheated that his secret had been told to Elizabeth by someone other than himself. But, she had accepted the truth about him with equanimity. More - with interest. She had not decried him. And she had not feared his dragon form. The only thing that disturbed him was, had she touched him because she was beginning to care for him, or had she reacted out of compassion and pity?

Above everything he did not want her pity.

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