Posted on: 2008-10-30
Thursday night, 31 October 1811
The general report, since Netherfield Park had been let, was that the new occupant was a very gallant fellow -- hospitable and genial, if a trifle odd. The gentlemen of the neighborhood who called had been warmly welcomed into his library -- the curtains all tightly drawn, a small fire lit on the hearth; and though gentlemen care not for such things, even they could see that Mr. Bingley, his friend, and his brother-in-law were exceptionally handsome men.
This information they mostly kept within conversations among themselves, for two single gentlemen, compellingly handsome though they were, could only marry at most two Hertfordshire daughters; so to excite curiosity and expectation was, to their fatherly sensibilities, most unwise.
Still, the womenfolk were powerfully curious about their new neighbors, who had yet to be received in Hertfordshire society. When the party entered the assembly room, all eyes turned toward Mr. Bingley, his two sisters, the husband of the oldest, and another young man.
The stillness that settled was almost palpable, as the entire room collectively gasped and held their breath. In the door stood five of the most beautiful creatures ever seen on earth. The sisters were slender, their figures absolutely perfect in their composition, their clothing of the most flattering colors and skilled construction, their glorious hair styled without flaw. The gentlemen were every inch their equals -- statuesque, faces handsome as though they had been chiseled by the most gifted sculptor, with physiques which irresistibly exuded virility and power beneath their fine evening clothing. All had skin of the clearest, most translucent white, which seemed to shimmer in the glow of the candles.
Mr. Bingley eagerly made himself acquainted with all the principal people in the room; he was lively and unreserved, and danced every dance fluidly -- seemingly unaware that he returned the ladies at the end of the set exhilarated, captivated, and very much in love with him. No one could resist his easy charm, or his eyes that shone like topaz. His brother-in-law, Mr. Hurst, preferred intelligent conversation with the gathered patriarchs, and he knew more about every subject than all of them combined; yet he listened so intently to all they had to say and smiled so genuinely that no one felt he was being patronizing or pretentious. The grace with which he moved his almost leonine, muscular form made him an object of awe and admiration when he took the floor with his wife or sister-in-law. And Mr. Bingley's friend Mr. Darcy, though he merely stood at the side of the dance and observed with eyes blacker than coal, drew the attention of the room by his fine, tall person, handsome features, noble mien, and the report (which was in general circulation within five minutes after his entrance) of his having more than ten thousand a year. He was looked at with great admiration; even after he had turned down every opportunity for introductions and dancing, even after he was perceived to be proud -- to be above his company, to be above being pleased -- he could not but be admired. Every aspect of his person commanded it. Though he never smiled, still his face was as beautiful as an angel's. His pride was instantly excused, for all acknowledged this was a man with every right to it. Almost no one felt worthy of being acquainted with him.
Elizabeth Bennet had been obliged, by the scarcity of gentlemen, to sit down for two dances; and during part of that time, Mr. Darcy had been standing near enough for her to overhear a conversation between him and Mr. Bingley, who came from the dance for a few minutes to press his friend to join it.
"Come, Darcy," said he, "I must have you dance."
"So you were saying," his friend rejoined.
"This is our new home, these are our new neighbors. I hate to see you standing about by yourself in this stupid manner. You had much better dance."
"I certainly shall not. You seem to be getting on well here, and in my current state I am not safe as a partner. You know what the outcome might be -- at such an assembly as this, it would be insupportable. "
"I would not be so fastidious as you are," cried Bingley, "for a kingdom!"
"You do not wish me to be fastidious?"
Bingley began again, his voice quieter and his speech more rapid this time. "Is your control in so much peril? I never met with so many pleasant people in my life as I have this evening; and there are several girls, you see, uncommonly pretty."
"Your partner is quite handsome," said Mr. Darcy, looking at the eldest Miss Bennet.
"Oh! she is the most beautiful creature I ever beheld, and her scent is sweeter than the finest wine. But there is one of her sisters sitting down just behind you, who is very pretty, and I dare say very agreeable. Do let me ask my partner to introduce you."
"Which do you mean?" and turning round, he looked for a moment at Elizabeth till, catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said, "She is in greater danger than the rest of these combined; I would more likely end her than dance with her. You had better return to your partner and enjoy her smiles, for you are wasting your time with me."
Shaking his head with amusement, Mr. Bingley followed his friend's advice. Mr. Darcy walked toward the door where Mr. Hurst stood amidst his assemblage of patriarchs; and Elizabeth, piqued and a little frightened by Mr. Darcy's words, made her way slowly toward the balcony, smiling and nodding to those she passed to mask her unease. She longed to make this story into something lively, playful, and ridiculous, but a sense of dread had unwillingly settled into her heart.
The cool dark of the calm night eased the tightness from her shoulders and the crease from her brow, and it was only a few moments later as she inhaled deeply that she realized that fear had constricted her breathing. But all was set to rights again, and her peace was restored; she must have misunderstood him, and she had no right to be interested in such a man in any case.
It was only then that she noticed, in the shrubbery not far from where she stood, a cravat of the finest white lawn that even the dark night and the branches could not conceal, as well as a luminescent face and the glitter of black eyes watching her. She turned and hurried back into the assembly room, from which Mr. Darcy was notably absent.
Monday evening, 11 November 1811
After that night every lady, married and single, held a secret tendre for at least one of the Netherfield gentlemen, often more than one. It could not be helped; not only were they handsome, they were so appealing -- so otherworldly in their looks, their grace, and their allure. Their conversation, when it could be engaged, was like a spell of comfort and content being slowly woven, and it left the listener with most agreeable impressions. Toward the ladies of Netherfield, each was most justifiably divided between admiration and envy of their perfection; and the sisters were so unflinchingly, unrelentingly polite and even complimentary in company that the jealousy seemed superfluous. Every lady felt comfortable in their presence, even if that comfort tended to wear away when their presence had been removed.
And so it was a matter of great interest when the coveted Mr. Bingley began to single one of them out. It was generally evident whenever they were in company that he admired Miss Bennet; and there was, of course, no doubt in anyone's mind that Jane must return his preference-- though she had the strength of character to maintain her composure and cheerful manner so that she did not, by her own actions, set the tongues of society wagging.
"It may perhaps be a disadvantage," said Charlotte, during an evening party at Lucas Lodge, "to be so very guarded. If Jane conceals her affection with the same skill from Mr. Bingley, she may lose the opportunity of fixing him! Will he have heart enough to be really in love without encouragement? He likes your sister undoubtedly; but he may never do more than like her, if she does not help him on. Particularly since there are so many woman eagerly and overtly interested in him."
Elizabeth replied confidingly, "But that is exactly the reason she behaves as she does, Charlotte. With so many rivals, how can she be certain he chooses her for her unless she allows him every freedom in his course?"
"Remember, Eliza, that he does not know Jane's disposition as you do."
"She does not endeavour to conceal it, only to mask the intensity of feeling she has for him. He must find it out. Indeed," Elizabeth said, gesturing around the room to all his fervent admirers, "how can he doubt?"
"Perhaps, if he sees enough of her, he will come to understand her inclinations. But though Bingley and Jane have met a few times, it is never for many hours together; and as they always see each other in large mixed parties, it is impossible that every moment should be employed in conversing together. Jane should therefore make the most of every half hour in which she can command his attention."
Elizabeth acknowledged the wisdom of it. If Bingley -- who was everything in the world that a young man ought to be -- had shown such a preference for her, she knew herself well enough to realize that she would have encouraged him with every word, every look, every gesture.
Occupied in observing Mr. Bingley's charming attentions to her sister, Elizabeth was far from suspecting that she was herself an object of interest in the eyes of his friend. From the moment he had found her, Mr. Darcy had learned all he could of Elizabeth: he had, in the quiet hours of the night, walked through the park at Longbourn; he had seen her at her window; he had followed her path when she set out for a walk; he had listened to her conversations with others. He had caught her scent, something like freesias, when a breeze blew past her; and he could hear the gentle pulse of her heart as though it were thunder. He had never encountered someone so appealing -- which caused a colossal war within him. He should leave, of course. He knew he should separate himself from her. And yet he was entranced by the way the beautiful expression of her dark eyes rendered her face uncommonly intelligent. As if she weren't difficult enough to resist, her figure was light and pleasing; and he was completely drawn in by the easy playfulness of her manners, so different to those the fashionable world. And of course, there was the matter of protecting her.
She had become his fixation. And of this she was perfectly unaware.
He watched her as she played for the party, her performance pleasing though by no means capital. He watched her as she again took her place with friends, smiling and shaking her head at their praise. And when the ignorant and boring Sir William offered her to him as a dance partner, he immediately stretched out his gloved hand. But he could not miss the fear in her eyes. Fear-- and a conflicting urge to acquiesce.
"Indeed, Sir," she said with a desperate look toward Sir William, "I have not the least intention of dancing." She allowed her gaze to meet Darcy's. "I entreat you not to suppose that I moved this way in order to beg for a partner."
It was almost overwhelming to have her so close; in addition to her usual scent there was a trace of lavender -- mouthwatering and edible. Mr. Darcy chose his weapons with care: he smiled alluringly at her, and gently stepped closer. He saw her jaw go slack and knew that she was dazzled, her own will dissolving. With propriety and all the charm in his repertoire, he complimented her on her performance and requested to be allowed the honour of her hand; but in vain. Her strength astounded him when Elizabeth, breathless, resisted. With a quick curtsey she turned away, and after a short word to her sister and mother she exited the room.
He found her outdoors, wandering the lane in front of the house as she waited for the carriage. He was glad to be away from the crowded room and the unceasing stream of chatter and thought, content to watch her from a distance as she walked and wrung her hands. She was so lovely, so vital. And so strong -- he had never expected that.
Suddenly, he knew they were not alone. He caught the faintest hint of it on a wisp of a breeze. They were here. They had found her. He could feel them closing in -- three of them, if he was not mistaken. One was just coming into view further down the lane, one was across the way, and the other... Darcy gasped when the third emerged from a hedge not ten feet from her; she didn't even break her pace.
In a flash he'd shoved the closest one back to the hedge, and the other two, seeing him, had disappeared. The only evidence of the event was a rustle of leaves. He hoped they were truly gone, for now, but of course he couldn't leave her alone; and so he hastened to her side and greeted her with, "Good evening, Miss Bennet."
She nearly jumped out of her skin. Clutching her chest, her breathing labored, she said, "Mr. Darcy! I did not hear you."
"My apologies. I did try to tread heavily behind you."
"I must have been distracted," she said, excusing him. "What are you doing out here, sir?"
"Saving your life."
She swallowed hard, and when she spoke again her voice trembled. "I beg your pardon?"
"My desire to protect you is strong, and in this case opportune. I hate to think what might have happened if I had stayed inside."
"Mr. Darcy," she said, her voice tinged with panic. There was enough of the question in the way she pronounced his name that she had no need to speak it.
He injected as much calm and confidence into his voice as he could. "I saw a wolf there," he said, gesturing toward the hedge. "I chased it away, and the two others left when the first did."
"Wolves?" she said, her quiet voice drenched with panic. "Three? Here?"
"As far as I could see, there were three. Still, just to be safe I should like to stay with you until the carriage comes around."
She looked behind her with dread.
"You are safe with me, Miss Bennet," Darcy said reassuringly.
Then her gaze of suspicion and distrust settled on him.
He bent so his eyes were level with hers, reaching for her. His angel's face was brighter than anything should be in the darkness, and his eyes burned like golden amber. With all the solemnity of a marriage vow he said, "I swear to you, you will not be hurt as long as I am near enough to protect you."
Despite her strength to resist him inside Lucas Lodge, Elizabeth's will crumbled to dust with his reassuring smile and the touch of his glove on her cheek. Where once she feared, now she only trusted.
"Your eyes are so different tonight," she said; her hand had involuntarily risen, closing the small gap between them, reaching toward his face, when she shook herself. How could she have forgotten the immediate danger simply because she gazed at his perfect features? She turned to look again down the lane. "When I am in the carriage...?" Elizabeth whispered.
"I could accompany you home, if you like," Darcy offered. "I shall follow behind you and keep watch over you."
She nodded mutely, comforted despite herself. She believed her thoughts were not her own, that somehow he was controlling them, but she clung to the aura of enchantment because it allowed her to dream -- for a moment -- that he could belong to her.
"Do not worry, dearest Lizzy," he said, standing so close behind her that it was almost an embrace. The spell was completely and comfortably woven around her. She would have followed him anywhere, or done anything he asked. He brushed his fingertips -- cool through the kid gloves -- across her cheekbone before he handed her into the carriage; it was only as she rambled homeward, trusting that he was nearby, that she realized what he had called her. Her cheek still tingled.
No sooner had the carriage stopped in Longbourn's gravel sweep than the door was open, and Darcy again reached in to help her down.
"Here so soon?" she questioned. "And dismounted? Where is your steed?"
His hair was untidy, blown by the wind, making him even more appealing. When he smiled at her question his eyes crinkled, and her heart stuttered.
"Go inside, Miss Bennet. I will ensure that the carriage gets back to Lucas Lodge for your mother and sisters."
"But you have not..."
He reached out as though to place a finger on her lips, but stopped before he touched her. "I promise, I will tell you anything you want to know."
"When?" she inquired. Her questions were many, and none of them were topics fit for suppers, card games, or drawing rooms.
"Is tomorrow morning sufficiently soon?"
She wanted to say no; instead, she repeated, "When?"
"As early as you are out tomorrow morning, know that I will be out even earlier. I will find you Elizabeth. Goodnight." And his gaze was filled with such longing, she couldn't form a reply before he -- and the carriage -- were gone.
Posted on: 2008-11-07
Tuesday morning, 12 November 1811
Elizabeth was still awake, of course, when her family arrived home. Jane, naturally, believed that Mr. Bingley's interest in and attention toward her could not possibly signify; nonetheless, her enthusiasm and affection for Bingley were a topic of many minutes' discussion when she crept into Elizabeth's room and found the candle still burning. She wished, she hoped, she longed... In short, she was completely besotted, and only waited for Mr. Bingley to make his own wishes known.
"But what about you, Lizzy? What did Mr. Darcy say to you? You looked as if you'd seen a ghost."
"I have no idea, Jane." Her own thoughts were swirling senselessly around in her mind, never able to form into a coherent whole. Her attention to details was usually exemplary, but all she had from tonight was images and sensations. What was within her power to reveal was utterly unbelievable; the disordered speculations the evening's events had spawned were better concealed. So for now, she realized, she must say nothing of what had transpired outside Lucas Lodge.
"Though we had not said two words to each other, there was something in Mr. Darcy's eyes," she sighed thinking of the gold reflecting the candle flames, "in his looks, which I did not trust. Notwithstanding the indisputable amiability of your Mr. Bingley, despite the impeccable manners of Mr. Bingley's sisters, regardless of Mr. Hurst's intelligence and the respect given by elders, I took an early dislike to him. But tonight..." She paused, to try to reweave her frayed thoughts."...He was not so disagreeable." Elizabeth took Jane's hand in hers, and stroked the back of it. "You know me well enough, Jane, to know that I hate to have my opinions overthrown." The two sisters laughed together, knowingly. "It discomposed me, so I left."
"Is that all?" Jane asked.
Unconvincingly, Elizabeth replied, "That is all."
"But..."
"Dearest Jane, my exhaustion overwhelms me." She smiled sweetly, so Jane would not worry, and added archly, "Go to your bed and have pleasant dreams of Mr. Bingley."
There had been very little sleep for Elizabeth through the night; when the first hints of grey crept into the sky she rose from her rumpled bed and sat at the window, impatient for morning. Before the sun had stretched her fingers to touch Longbourn's steadfast stone walls, Elizabeth was dressed with hair arranged and pelisse donned, keen for an early walk.
The sky was clear, though the sun had yet to rise, and the morning was cold. She hurried through the gate and onto the road, headed she knew not where. Impulse led her onto a wooded path which ran near farms and fields, the privacy of which suited her need for quiet thought.
As she turned a bend which would obscure her from the road behind, Darcy fell into step beside her. "Good morning, Miss Bennet."
She clutched her breast again to steady her suddenly pounding heart, pleased that at least this morning she hadn't jumped.
"My apologies; you did not hear my approach," he stated quietly, and she thought she could detect a smirk in his voice.
"No I did not," she answered, "and you knew I wouldn't. How did you come to be on this path at precisely this moment?"
His smile was dazzling; the smooth, alabaster skin beside his gloriously golden eyes crinkled in merriment. "I told you I would find you, did I not?"
"You mean...?"
"I mean that I am on this path because you are."
Elizabeth shook her head. "I do not understand."
"I am quite certain you do not."
She turned to face him, her steps stilled. "Then will you explain everything to me?"
But Darcy continued his progress, slowly and steadily. "What think you of the Gothic novel, Miss Bennet? Have you read Mrs. Radcliffe?"
In exasperation, Elizabeth said, "How you do skip from one subject to another!" She threw up her hands and resumed her steps beside him.
Darcy smiled indulgently. "This is no idle inquiry, Miss Bennet, for the tale I have to tell you is of the Gothic sort. It is populated with supernatural creatures you, no doubt, never thought existed except in stories. May I assume you have read the novels?" His grin was so inviting, his alabaster brow raised in expectation, arched as perfectly as though it had been carved by a master sculptor.
Elizabeth only nodded and smiled, taking deep breaths to lessen his captivating effect on her.
"Then you have read of the were-wolf -- that creature, half-man, half-wolf that terrifies humans."
Again Elizabeth nodded, less happily this time.
"These are akin to the three creatures I saw yesternight; giant and menacing in their wolf form, and stalking you."
Her steps stilled again as her eyes grew round with horror, and she swayed as though she might fall.
Darcy easily caught her by her shoulders, and, supporting her weight, marched her to an obliging fallen tree. "Perhaps we ought to sit a spell here," he said, laying his handkerchief down on the smooth bark and encouraging her with a flourish of his hand. "You were never in any real danger, you know; I followed you as soon as you left the room."
Her voice was no more than a whisper. "And I thought you were the dangerous one."
He threw back his head and laughed exuberantly, though he hardly made a sound. He looked upon her with still-smiling eyes. "So beautiful, and so perceptive. Truly, you are exceptional among humans." He looked so pleased with her -- so proud of her -- that she felt delighted with herself.
She had definitely paid attention to his choice of words. "You say humans as though..."
He was utterly glorious as he sat mutely beside her, his amber eyes glowing as though lit from within. His skin was perfectly smooth -- like a stone polished in a river, she thought, though still somehow skin. His mouth was turned up into a smile only on one side, and he was so effortlessly appealing she had to shake her head to regain the thread of her thoughts.
"As though you're not human yourself," she continued weakly, at last.
"I do not know what to make of you." His voice was so quiet and the words were spoken so quickly, she had to concentrate to make sense of them. An expression of purest joy danced on his angel's face while his gloved fingers once again brushed her cheek lightly, naturally, as though he had a right to touch her. When he spoke again his voice was deep and assured. "Do not worry, Miss Bennet. If I look, sound, and behave like a human, then by all rational arguments I must be an ordinary..."
"Sound, a little -- though ordinary men do not have such a voice. In looks there is nothing common about any of you," she said, including his Netherfield companions in the description. "Your manners are perfect and genteel, but you stand in a room surrounded by the rest of us, and you fail to become part of the crowd. And you cannot expect me to agree that that your behavior is nothing out of the ordinary."
He allowed himself another fond grin at her before turning his face away as though to gaze in the other direction.
"You are silent, for one thing."
Darcy harrumphed, and not silently.
"I mean I never hear you approaching. To all appearances, you kept pace with the horses last night, though you were on foot."
He almost looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "It was a slow canter, Miss Bennet..." His tone was disapproving.
"But you showed no sign whatsoever of exertion. And -- if I'm to believe this story you're beginning to tell me -- you are not afraid of werewolves. Is that what you are?"
Though his face was still turned in another direction, Elizabeth could see by the curve of Darcy's cheek that he was grinning again.
"In all the novels, if I'm not mistaken, humans are more food than foe," Elizabeth continued.
Darcy turned back to face her again, his expression now schooled into one of disbelief. "Ponder for a moment the...rather absurd powers you've ascribed to me. Even Mrs. Radcliffe would scoff, don't you think?" He stood and stretched his gloved hand down the path. "Are you feeling well? Can we resume our walking?"
"You said you would tell me anything I wanted to know," she replied -- more weakly than she intended, for Mr. Darcy didn't seem at all the sort of being one could make any demands on.
His face softened. "And so I will." He gestured again. "Shall we walk?"
Elizabeth rose from her improvised seat and joined him. "Don't forget your handke -- " She looked over her shoulder, but the fallen tree was bare. "Oh!" she exclaimed, looking back at Darcy who, with a smug grin, was just tucking his handkerchief in his pocket though he'd never moved from her side. "How did you -- ?"
"The tale continues, Miss Bennet," he said. "You know of war, yes? Right now a regiment -- "
She heard a sneer in his voice as he said the word.
" -- is encamped at Meryton. Your General Hill is in Spain, having just three days ago defeated General Gerard at Arroyo dos Molinos." His Spanish accent was perfect and natural.
Elizabeth interrupted. "Is that in newspapers already? How do you know what is happening in Spain? "
Darcy waved the question away with his gloved hand. "And this war is not over. Even now storm clouds build between Britain and the New World." His steps never faltered, his feet never trod any but an exactly straight line down the path, though he turned his face to look at her. "You are no stranger to the results of a difference in...philosophy."
When Elizabeth looked in Darcy's eyes, when she strolled beside him like this, she could not think of philosophy. She could not ponder war or skirmish, or in truth anything but surrender. She cared not which words he spoke, as long as his voice could weave around her, delighting her senses. There was something so appealing, masculine and yet somehow sweet, about his scent, and she never wanted to stop looking in his glowing eyes...
"Elizabeth?" Darcy said with a smirk. "We were talking about war?"
Elizabeth emphasized her manners in addressing him correctly. "You were talking about war, Mr. Darcy." She stumbled over a rock in the dirt path, and with much strength of will returned her eyes to the terrain before her. "And yes. We are immersed in the results of a difference in philosophy. I know the condition."
He was quiet for a short moment as their feet fell side by side -- his with astonishing, unnatural grace.
"There are other wars, Miss Bennet, that rage for decades, centuries... Wars of violent destruction. Of which humans are unaware."
"I know news of distant lands travels slowly, Mr. Darcy, but..."
"Another war, a different kind, surrounds you, Miss Bennet. And you know nothing of it." He turned to look at her significantly.
She bit her lip, pondering his words and staring at the curl of hair which had fallen onto his forehead. His hair was longer than most men were wearing it, and she liked it. She wanted to touch it, to feel the smooth skin of his face.
His eyebrows quirked upward, perfect creases appearing on his formerly smooth brow.
A flash of insight hit. "Are you trying to connect for me, somehow, the Gothic werewolves and the unseen war?" she asked.
A large smile covered his face, like the sun breaking from behind a cloud. Again he looked so proud of her that her heart soared.
"Extraordinary." He reached for her, his hands very loose on her upper arms, his grip a support rather than a restriction. "And now we come to it. The war has raged for centuries, Miss Bennet; we no longer care why, only that our enmity is as much a part of us as our sight or hearing or instinct. But the current battlefield centers around you."
Her knees buckled, and she was glad for his support, for his hands on her arms and his words still swirling around her to dull the panic.
"Oh dear," he said, holding her up effortlessly, like one might support a child.
Her voice was no more than a whisper, and even so it trembled. "A battle rages around me?"
"Because of you," he said, now scooping her into his arms when her legs failed completely. "It is clear that you have many talents, latent abilities which could, under other circumstances be formidable for one side or the other. But which will you choose?" He held her tenderly, but not cradled near his body. It caused him no difficulty whatsoever to support her weight entirely with his arms almost fully extended.
"I have no idea what you are saying," she said, dizzy with the sweetness of his breath. Despite all standards of decorum, she wished to hug herself closer to his chest.
He smiled indulgently. "I shall protect you until you do. There is so much you've never conceived of, even in your imagination. But I would ask, Elizabeth, that you consider us. Our group -- our family -- will be a shield and a protection to you. Our ways are gentler, more civil if we can use that word, and I think we would suit you. And you us." The path was quite heavily wooded. He had carried her to sturdy tree and now gently stood her upright against it, where she could grip the trunk. He removed himself several steps from her.
She felt the loss of his arms acutely. "Do you know what I think?"
"No," he said darkly, with the slightest hint of exasperation.
"I think that nearly sounded like a proposal. Of what I am uncertain, as it wasn't between just one man and one woman -- if I may call you that until I have a better descriptor? It sounded as though you just offered me your hand, but also Mr. Bingley's, Mr. Hurst's, and though I cannot make sense of it in my mind it perhaps Mrs. Hurst's and Miss Bingley's as well. One big happy...family? Though of course there has been no courtship, I cannot call that marriage..." She blushed hotly, realizing what she'd just been saying. "...which is more evidence that I don't under -- "
For all his slow strolling this morning, Darcy moved very quickly, standing so close that the toes of his shoes touched hers, leaning toward her and placing a finger atop her lips. "You comprehend much better than you realize. Yes, we want you to join us. I want you to join us. We want to show you our ways and make you one of us. You would have more power than you can now imagine. And please believe me, Elizabeth, when I say that this is the right side of the skirmish."
She took a deep breath, mustering her strength to walk away from him. "So. You want me, but not as a wife."
As she walked between the trees, out from the sheltering shade of the wooded path into an empty field lit by the early sun, she did not see his answering expression, or the way his eyes swept down her form.
"An invitation which extends until The Battle of Elizabeth Bennet is won?" she asked over her shoulder.
"Not only that," he answered very quietly, and she had to strain to hear.
"For life, then?"
"Forever," he vowed, with tenderness in his voice that made her heart accelerate.
"You're urging me to join a side in a war I know nothing about, and to...fight along with you? To be one of you? What are you, Mr. Darcy?"
He stepped out between the trees himself, the sunlight falling on his perfect, smooth skin, and reflecting in every direction and color as though he were a diamond cut to scatter light.
Wednesday afternoon, 13 November 1811
"You took an awful risk, Darcy," Hurst said. "I thought we had agreed we would assess the situation for a few months first? Try to understand the position of the enemy and her importance to them?"
"You know that plan dissolved the first moment he found her," Bingley responded, rolling his eyes.
"The combination of sweet blood and silence was overwhelming," Louisa joked.
Caroline responded quietly, thoughtfully. "You laugh, Louisa, but you remember what happened when you encountered that human whose blood sang for you. It was like a tune, a melody with weaving harmonies, just to smell the wind blow on his face, you said. And despite the fact that you were well fed you were desperate to have him." Caroline tossed a careless glance at her sister. "You, of all people -- "
Here Hurst chuckled, and Bingley and Darcy shot each other amused glances.
" -- can't deny the control Darcy exhibited when he kept his distance behind her."
Bingley sighed heavily, turning to Darcy. "And of course you'd be fascinated by a mind you couldn't hear. Drawn to her on two counts. But really; stepping into the sunlight? What were you thinking?"
Darcy sat still as a statue, one of five unnaturally still figures seated in the parlor. "I trusted her," he said. "And I'll remind you, my trust was well-placed. I have been listening to every person she has spoken with in the last two days, and she hasn't breathed a word. Even to Jane. Her soul is so beautiful; she's a pleasure to watch..."
Bingley's expression grew alarmed. "Since when are you interested in Jane Bennet's soul?" he gasped.
Darcy responded affectionately. "Not Jane Bennet's, you infatuated fool. I know your feelings about her, and let me assure you I don't share them." He stood and walked away from the small group to the window overlooking the drive and the gates that were the boundary of Netherfield Estate, focusing on the images in his mind rather than the scenery before his eyes. "I mean Elizabeth. Everyone who speaks to her, be they tradesmen, servants, or acquaintances, admires something about her."
Caroline breathed a sigh so quiet, no human ears could have heard it.
Darcy turned, facing the room. "She is uncannily aware, observant. Her instincts told her not to trust us, that we are dangerous. And yet we have to win her to our side before they make their move. I had to use the weapons at my disposal to make her listen, to pique her interest. We can't risk her joining with them. She would be too...formidable."
"I agree," said Bingley, "even without taking into account your obsession with her."
"I do not have -- "
Bingley retorted with thoughts of Darcy prowling the grounds of Longbourn all through the night, every night, and the way he tended to linger under her window. Hurst thought of the way Darcy's eyes had followed her every time they'd been in company together. Caroline thought, rather sadly, of his excitement after he had smelled her the first time, and the way he couldn't stop talking about her. Louisa simply recalled most vividly an occasion on which she watched Miss Elizabeth blush, the pink tinge creeping up from the neckline of her dress, and smirked while she watched Darcy's reaction to the memory.
He turned his back on all of them, looking out the window again, but they continued to provide mental evidence they'd gathered. They all believed he wasn't strictly interested in gaining an ally for their side.
"Enough," he said quietly.
"So how do we proceed?" Hurst asked.