Mr. Darcy's Bite

by Mary Lydon Simonsen

  “You should be in bed, Mr. Mercer. It must be at least three or four o’clock in the morning.”

  “It is four forty-five, miss. But the master asked me to stay close in case you needed anything. Since I knew you were outside on the terrace, I was just waiting for you to come in.”

  “Did you, by chance, see what happened out there?”

  “Yes, miss. If I may be permitted to say so, it was a very tender scene.”

  Fearing that she might start tearing up again, she made no response. “What time is sunrise tomorrow, Mr. Mercer?” She knew that he would know the exact time right down to the minute, so that he would be ready for the return of his master.

  “Six fifty-four. The days are getting shorter. After all, it’s November 1st, the feast of All Saints’ Day. May I inquire why you need to know that, miss?”

  “Because I have made my decision. I have decided not to decide.” When she saw Mercer’s confusion, she continued, “What I mean is that I will let matters run their natural course.”

  This intelligence seemed to be viewed as good news by Mercer because a bit of a sparkle appeared in his eyes. He understood that Miss Elizabeth had very nearly been devastated when she had learned of Mr. Darcy’s other life, and he was rightly concerned for her welfare. His master’s orders had been that she was not to be by herself at any time other than when she was in her bedchamber, and because of those orders, Mercer had been a witness to the scene on the terrace. If ever there were two people in love, it was his master and Miss Elizabeth. It would be such a shame if something as inconsequential as a transformation that lasted all of two days each month kept them apart.

  “Mr. Mercer, considering the circumstances, I am going to forego the usual conventions of propriety.” She took a deep breath and asked, “Is it possible to arrange for a bath?”

  “Yes, miss. In fact, one is already prepared for the master. All I need to do is add some hot water. I will go get Mrs. Brotherton?”

  Mrs. Brotherton was Georgiana’s lady’s maid, a kind and thoughtful lady, who had replaced the conniving Mrs. Younge, George Wickham’s accomplice in his attempted elopement. Without being overbearing, she provided her mistress with the sound advice necessary for someone who was about to step into the public arena that was London society, and Georgiana loved her dearly.

  “But won’t that raise questions with Mrs. Brotherton about why I need a bath at this hour?”

  “No, miss. Her son is a werewolf. He’s one of the grooms who works in the stables. That’s how she came to be here. She met Mr. Darcy at a gathering in Scotland, and Miss Darcy was in need of a new lady’s maid because the last one got booted, and rightly so.”

  “What if someone should see me coming out of Mr. Darcy’s bedroom? What would they think?”

  “That’s not possible. No junior servants are allowed on this floor after the family has retired. If they even tried it, they’d be sent packing without a character and that would make it near impossible to get another job in service.”

  Lizzy nodded in understanding. Everything that happened at Pemberley was well thought out because any error might expose Mr. Darcy. Even though he was highly regarded by all his neighbors and tenants, no one could anticipate what another’s response would be to the revelation that he was a werewolf, especially considering the horrible stories that were told about them, including ones in which they attacked humans on sight and ate recently buried corpses. According to Anne, werewolves did everything they could to avoid humans and ate only freshly or recently killed meat.

  When Lizzy entered Mr. Darcy’s room, she saw that Mrs. Brotherton was waiting for her and that she had brought with her everything necessary to bathe a lady. She had little time to look around the room, but what little she did see of the furnishings, she liked, including the largest bed she had ever seen. Would she ever sleep in that bed, she wondered?

  Since both ladies had something in common—they both knew a werewolf—the two had a nice chat while Lizzy was bathing and having her hair washed. Knowing that there was no such thing as a “happy” werewolf story, Lizzy still found Mrs. Brotherton’s son’s narrative to be particularly sad.

  Teddy had been serving as a groom in the London townhouse of a wealthy merchant, who had decided to sell his business so that he might live the life of a country gentleman, and this man, so new to the gentry, decided that those of the genteel class traveled. Since Napoleon’s armies prevented him from going abroad, they went north to Scotland. While in the Highlands, the carriage stopped so that everyone could get out and stretch their legs and respond to calls of Nature.

  “Quite suddenly, a wolf came out from behind a boulder,” Mrs. Brotherton explained, “and was running right at Teddy’s master, so Teddy jumped in front of the wolf to protect him and fought him off with a whip, but not before he was bitten on the hand. It took about three months for the transformation to happen, but when it did, even though my son had saved his life, his master kicked him out the house. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Darcy, I do not know what we would have done.”

  Lizzy tried to reconcile all that she knew about Mr. Darcy with her first impression of him. To his family, he was beyond reproach, his servants and neighbors held him in the highest regard, and he had provided employment and a home for Teddy and his mother.

  To all who know him, he walks on water, so why was he so rude to me? Lizzy asked herself. According to the master of Pemberley, I was not handsome enough to tempt him to dance, I willfully misunderstood him, and I was guilty of the sin of pride in rejecting him. But now I come to Pemberley and find that he is regarded as St. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire, patron saint of werewolves.

  Trying to dry Lizzy’s thick curls was a fool’s errand, and she said so to Mrs. Brotherton. Since there wasn’t enough time left before dawn to get the damp out of her hair, she pulled her curls back and hoped that her tresses would not break free of the ribbon.

  Then she thought: where should she meet him? After pondering the possibilities for several minutes, she remembered Anne saying that there was a secret room behind the study where her cousin would stay during the most inclement weather. It would make sense for such a room to have an outside entrance so that Mr. Darcy might return to the house without being seen. In that way, he could enter the house while still in his wolf form, dress, and emerge unseen through his study.

  Lizzy let out a huge sigh. She was getting all prettied up in order to meet a man who had just spent two days in the wild running through woods and thickets and would probably have twigs stuck in his hair. Even if this was meant to be, it was still going to take some getting used to.

  Because Lizzy had chosen an everyday dress that buttoned in the front, she thanked Mrs. Brotherton for her help and dismissed her, as she had no further need of her services. After a few dabs of rose water, she took one last look in the mirror and went in search of Mercer.

  ***

  “Everything is ready for you in the study, miss. Mr. Jackson has a good fire going, and I have lit some candles so you won’t bump into the furniture. I should warn you that as soon as Mr. Darcy sees the light, he will be on his guard, fearing discovery, so you should immediately make your presence known and identify yourself.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Mercer. I understand, and I shall do as you advise. But did you say that Mr. Jackson made the fire?”

  “Yes. The joke belowstairs is that he is the Jackson of all trades,” Mercer said, chuckling. “He started here at Pemberley when he was a mere lad, hauling coal and lugging water up the stairs for Mr. Darcy’s father, and there ain’t nothing he can’t do.”

  “And he is as faithful a servant to the son as he was to the father, and as for you, Mr. Mercer, Mr. Darcy could not be better served by any man in the kingdom.”

  Mercer acknowledged the compliment with a nod. “Miss Elizabeth, I’m forty years old, and I’ve met more than my share of people. I know paup
ers who are princes, and nobles who I wouldn’t walk across the street to help if they fell on their rumps. I know quality when I see it, and it has nothing to do with the houses they live in or the carriages they drive around in town. Mr. Darcy is one of the most decent people I know, and I’m not going to let a little thing like canine teeth keep me from serving him.”

  Lizzy smiled at Mr. Mercer, who rarely failed to amuse. “How did you meet Mr. Darcy?”

  “It was five years ago, and we sought shelter at a coaching inn during a snowstorm. Now, a man of Mr. Darcy’s standing could have had a room all his own ’cause he had the coin to pay for it. Instead, he huddled up in a corner and slept on the floor so that the women and their children could have his room. As the night wore on, we got to talking. I said how I was tired of driving the mail coach, and he said he was looking for a manservant ’cause his man had taken ill and wasn’t up to the job anymore.

  “I knew there was something different right from the beginning, but I just kept doing my job. And over time, I came to admire him, and then to… Damn! I’m tearing up,” he said, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “I came to love him like a… like he was one of my kin. And then one night he sat me down, and we had the talk, and I told him it didn’t make one bit of difference to me. I knew that the man inside was a good man and that’s all I needed to know. That’s the way it’s been ever since.”

  “Mr. Mercer, I do not know what is going to happen tonight,” Lizzy said, placing her hand on his arm. “I really don’t. So I am going to ask your forgiveness if it does not work out the way you had hoped it would.”

  “There will be no need of forgiveness because I’ve seen how you looked at him out there,” he said, pointing in the direction of the terrace. “You looked past that wolf exterior and saw the man inside, just like I did. My advice to you is to keep an open mind, and if you do that, you’ll open your heart as well.”

  Chapter 9

  Looking around the study, Lizzy understood why this room would be a sanctuary for Mr. Darcy. In the corner, there were French wines and fine Madeiras next to a crystal brandy decanter and snifter glasses. Despite the wars raging on the Continent, Mr. Darcy had somehow managed to procure wine and brandy from France, or, more likely, Mercer knew someone who had bought the banned spirits from smugglers slipping into the numerous coves on the Channel coast.

  Next to the sofa, there was a table reserved for The Times of London as well as some French newspapers. Another table had a stack of newspapers published by Cambridge University, his alma mater, and she wondered how he had managed to attend university without someone taking notice of his disappearances. She knew that he often attended cricket matches, but surely it was not possible for him to have been a regular player on the Cambridge team or someone would have noticed his fur coat.

  That is not funny, Lizzy, she thought, chiding herself.

  She then walked over to examine the jewel in the crown of Mr. Darcy’s study: his book collection. One whole wall was floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and after picking up a candle, Lizzy scanned the titles. The collection included the complete works of Shakespeare, the Iliad and the Odyssey, Isaac Newton’s Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica, bound copies of Poor Richard’s Almanacs, and the collected works of Cicero and Ovid. Sharing the shelf with the work of poets from Pindar to Cowper was the fiction of Sterne, Defoe, Richardson, and Fielding. One of Fielding’s titles, An Apology for the Life of Mrs. Shamela Andrews, was unfamiliar to her.

  Taking the first volume out of the case, Lizzy inquired of the absent Mr. Darcy, “Perhaps I could borrow this book when you are busy doing other things?” Lizzy started giggling. Her silliness was a result of nerves, fatigue, and fear of the unknown. What could she possibly say to a man returning to hearth and home after spending two nights in the woods as a werewolf?

  “Maybe a glass of sherry would help to steady me.” She was reaching for the bottle when she heard a noise on the far side of the room. There was a sliding sound and then another, and Mr. Darcy stepped out of the shadows. He was barefoot, his hair unkempt and his shirt open to his waist. In other words, he was magnificent.

  As soon as he saw the fire and candles, he froze, and Lizzy froze as well. His eyes darted back and forth, scanning the room, and her heart went into her throat. She barely managed to croak out, “Mr. Darcy, it is Elizabeth.” But rather than her voice reassuring him that he was in no danger, her presence seemed to displease him, and he told her to come into the light.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked in an emotionless voice that contrasted sharply with the fire in his eyes.

  “I am very sorry, sir. I have made a mistake.” She started to walk backwards away from him, but before she could reach the door, he grabbed her roughly by her arm. Now she was truly frightened. “I want to go,” she said, and after seeing the fear in her face, he released her.

  “Please do not go. I did not mean to hurt you. It is just that it takes some time to stop being one thing and to start being another. I usually have a brandy and wait for a half hour or more before I go upstairs to bathe.”

  “Shall I get you a brandy before I leave?” This had been a terrible idea, she thought, as she tried to calm her racing heart. She had no idea what was involved in his transformation from wolf to human. Maybe it was exhausting or painful. Why hadn’t Mercer warned her? Probably, because he did not know. He would rightly have waited for his master to come to him.

  “Thank you, but I will have a brandy later. Right now, I would prefer to talk to you.” He gestured for her to sit down, but she shook her head no. Understanding her nervousness, he tried to calm her. “You look very pretty. I don’t think I have seen that frock before.”

  “It is just an everyday dress—not something that your sister would ever wear,” she answered while trying not to act frightened.

  “Regardless, you still look pretty in it.” He looked at her sideways and stepped closer to her. “Your hair is wet.”

  “Yes, I took a bath. What I mean is, I took your bath—the one Mercer had prepared for you.”

  “Well, that is a pleasant image.” Darcy could hear her take in a gulp of air. “In this flickering light, I cannot be completely sure, but I believe you are blushing.”

  Every inch of Lizzy was blushing. Why had she told him that she had taken a bath in his tub in his room? Not knowing how to respond, she answered, “You smell like mint.”

  After he stopped laughing, he explained that he always ate mint before he returned to the house, but he did not mention the reason. It was to cover up any lingering odor from a kill. But that was not the case tonight, as his anxiety about Elizabeth had resulted in a loss of appetite, and even when Nell had offered him some of her rabbit, he had declined.

  “So you look pretty, and I smell nice. Now, what shall we talk about?”

  Lizzy bit her lip. What should she say? “On the terrace, we said that we needed to talk,” she answered, looking away from him toward the fire. “Perhaps later today.”

  “Your memory is faulty, Elizabeth,” he answered, refusing to follow her gaze. He would not be distracted. “You placed your head on the back of my neck and said, ‘Mr. Darcy, what are we to do?’ Not ‘you’ and not ‘I,’ but ‘we.’ So now I ask you, can you accept me for who and what I am?” Then he hesitated. “But, perhaps I already know the answer. There was no candle in the window last night, and I know that because when I was not with you, I kept that window in my view from dusk until dawn.”

  That statement sounded very much like an accusation, and if it was, he was being unfair. How could she possibly have signaled him that all was well when it was not?

  “I still do not understand. Why me? When we first met, you found me so unappealing that you could barely tolerate my company.”

  “Quite the contrary,” he answered, shaking his head. “I was completely taken in by you and your impertinence, and it was because of my at
traction to you that I pushed you away. I did not want to fall in love and risk being turned down when you found out about my altered state. I had imagined so many times how you would look at me when you found out, and, yesterday, I saw it for myself. You were repulsed, and I cannot blame you. But you must remember that I did not choose this way of life. It is a hand I have been dealt, and I do the best I can under the circumstances.”

  “But your proposal at Hunsford Lodge? If you wanted me so badly, why were you so insulting?”

  Darcy put his hands on both of her arms and pulled her gently toward him. “After being with you in Hertfordshire and seeing you at Rosings, I wanted you more than I have ever wanted anything in my life, and it took every ounce of my courage to go to the parsonage that day. But in the back of my mind, I knew that you would reject me because I was a werewolf, and so I went on the offensive.”

  “So you made that obnoxious proposal so that I would reject you?”

  “Yes, in that way I would not have to reveal that once a month I become a creature of the night. Logic is not my strong suit.”

  “I should say not.”

  Darcy started to laugh. “You see this is why I love you. You have such spirit and independence. You will not be put down by anybody—not by me or Caroline Bingley or my aunt Catherine. You are fearless, and after love and loyalty, that is what I prize most. So now I will tell you that I love you, and I always will. But if you cannot accept this reality, then we shall say good-bye, and even though I risk losing a good friend in the bargain, I shall not call on Charles Bingley at Netherfield Park for fear that I might see you. I may be part wolf, but I am still a man with a heart, and it can be broken.”