Vampire Darcy's Desire

by Regina Jeffers

  Elizabeth agreed: “I could easily forgive Mr. Darcy’s pride if he had not mortified mine.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Over the next fortnight, Bingley’s party, including Darcy, found themselves five times in the company of the Bennets. One evening over brandy, Bingley noted how often Darcy spent time with Miss Bennet: danced four times at Meryton, saw her one morning at his own house, and dined in her company four times. However, he did not need to tell Darcy how often they saw the Bennets; Darcy knew exactly. Despite his need to remain alone, he indulged in observing his Elizabeth, as he now thought of her. Purposely, he found things to say to her to provoke a response, just to enjoy the natural huskiness of Elizabeth’s voice.What he began to notice was how he felt after each of their exchanges. It seemed the more he irritated her, the stronger he grew—each retort increasing his vitality—and he took a twisted delight in annoying her.

  So when he walked into Sir William Lucas’s home that evening, Darcy anticipated another gathering during which he could watch his Elizabeth. He relished the knowledge that she did not suspect his interest. Darcy played it very well: At first, he scarcely allowed her to be pretty; he looked at her without admiration at the dance, and when they met over the subsequent evenings, he looked upon her only to criticize.

  But no sooner did Darcy make it clear to himself and his friends that Elizabeth had hardly a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes. This discovery was succeeded by others, equally mortifying. Although on several occasions he tried to convince himself she possessed more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing. Plus, as he openly bemoaned the fact that her

  Tonight, he stood by the window, watching Elizabeth as she conversed with Charlotte Lucas and Colonel Forster, the commanding officer of the local militia. He enjoyed watching her animated movements; his Elizabeth exuded pure delight, and Darcy could not help but smile. She made his heart feel lighter; he had never thought that just looking at someone could be so satisfying.

  Over the past few weeks, Mr. Darcy appeared in her thoughts more than Elizabeth cared to admit. At first, her interest lay purely in confirming her aunt’s suspicions, but now there was something more.Yet she could not let anyone else know. Of late, she would often look up to find him studying her, and just as often, his scrutiny made her senses flare with a smoldering she could not identify. On this particular evening, Elizabeth took note of his constant presence, and, as she was prone to do when she had no other way of dealing with a situation, she began an impertinent confrontation. “Did not you think, Mr. Darcy, I expressed myself uncommonly well just now, when I teased Colonel Forster to give us a ball at Meryton?”

  He purposely swallowed the smile that threatened to turn up the corners of his mouth. His Elizabeth chose to approach him. “You expressed yourself with great energy—but it is a subject which always makes a lady energetic.”

  She bristled, not sure of how to take him.“You are severe on us.”

  “I offer you my apologies. As a gentleman, Miss Elizabeth, I would not wish to offend.”

  However, Elizabeth had not finished with him; she had determined of late to see if she could ruffle Darcy’s usual self-control. “Mr. Darcy, am I to understand your estate in Derbyshire is an extensive one?”

  If she hoped to catch him off guard, Elizabeth succeeded. Darcy wondered if she saw him as a potential mate. If so, she would be sadly disappointed, for he held other plans. He forced his face to appear expressionless, although a plethora of emotions rushed through him.“Such is its reputation, Miss Elizabeth,” he said warily.

  “Large enough to employ several hundred, so I hear.” Elizabeth took a small step forward, as if to challenge him, but Darcy did not move.

  Darcy kept a steady gaze on her, searching her countenance for information. To what end is she leading? There it was again—that look, the one that left him rattled.“If one counts the cottagers, several hundred seems reasonable.”

  “Do you know everyone who works at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy? I mean, do you know the names of your footmen and stable hands?”

  “I do not understand, Miss Elizabeth.” His ire grew by the second; he gripped his hands hard behind his back.“Is there a point in this conversation?”

  “My aunt is from Lambton, Mr. Darcy. Did I happen to mention that fact?”

  Darcy’s forehead furrowed in a frown. “I heard as such from Mr. Bingley.”

  Elizabeth raised her chin in defiance. “My Aunt Gardiner used to tell me of Pemberley when I was younger. In fact, a girl my aunt once knew in Lambton,Vivian Piccadilly, was a washerwoman on your estate. Do you know of Miss Piccadilly, Mr. Darcy?”

  Vivian Piccadilly? Yes, I knew her. She lost her life to George Wickham, but how could Darcy explain that? Does Elizabeth Bennet know more than she pretends? “I take great pride, Miss Elizabeth, in recalling the names of those who work within my household and who work the land of my estate. Miss Piccadilly was with us for only a few short months. Her father and mother remain as part of our staff, however.” His face was completely impassive.

  Ah, thought Elizabeth. Mr. Darcy says more than his words. At least, now he knows that I know, but…

  Before she could retort, Charlotte caught her friend and

  Over Elizabeth’s protest, Charlotte insisted, and for a bit of spite, Elizabeth turned to Darcy and said,“There is a fine old saying, with which everybody here is, of course, familiar—‘Keep your breath for porridge,’—and I shall keep mine to swell my song.”

  Darcy offered her a slight bow as he said, “Excellent advice, Miss Elizabeth; I will heed your words if the situation arises.” She scowled, trying to understand how her irreverence amused him.“I look forward to your performance.”

  Elizabeth walked away briskly and took up a position at the pianoforte.Though by no means capital, she offered a pleasing performance. As usual, Darcy moved to where he could watch her, at least in profile. Tolerably good, she entertained everyone with a couple of light-hearted ditties. Then the group entreated her to sing once more, begging for a love song.

  “You desire something sad?”They agreed, so she let her fingers play lightly across the keys at first, trying to find the pitch and to remember the words. Then when she took up the melody, Darcy froze. Of all the songs in the world, she chose this one—his song:

  Lord Thomas was an artist

  And keeper of the King’s leer

  Fair Ellender was a lady gay

  Lord Thomas, he loved her dear

  Lord Thomas and Fair Ellender

  Sat all day on a hill;

  When night came, and sun was gone,

  They’d not yet said their fill.

  Lord Thomas spoke a word in jest

  And Ellender took it ill:

  “Oh, I’ll never marry me a wife

  Against my family’s will.”

  “If you will never wed thee a wife,

  A wife will never wed thee!”

  So he rode home to tell his mother

  And knelt upon his knee.

  “Mother, come Mother, come riddle to me.

  Come riddle it all in one,

  And tell me whether to marry Fair Ellender

  Or bring the Brown Girl home?”

  How could she know? he wondered. It made no sense, and he was a man who prided himself on common sense. But there it lay—Elizabeth Bennet knew his deepest secret; she had set him up. Every muscle in his body became taut, and Darcy fought to breathe naturally, but he managed to keep his expression constant. Despite his misery, she continued to sing:

  “The Brown Girl gives you houses and land

  Fair Ellender, she has none.

  And there I charge you, take success

  And bring the Brown Girl home.”

  He dressed himself all in his best

  His merry men all in white

  And every town he
passed through

  They took him for a knight.

  He went till he came to fair Ellender’s court

  So loudly twirled at the pin,

  There was none so ready as fair Ellender herself

  To let Lord Thomas in.

  “Bad news, bad news, Lord Thomas,” she said,

  “Bad news you bring to me.

  You’ve come to ask me to your wedding,

  When I thought your bride to be.”

  She turned around and dressed in white

  Her sisters dressed in green,

  And every town they rode through

  They took her for some queen.

  Darcy clenched and unclenched his hands, trying to force the tension away, trying to hide his anguish behind a bland expression. If he could only move; however, her voice mesmerized him as much as it did the others. He had never heard the song done so well and with so much passion.

  They rode and they rode till they came to the hall,

  So loudly she twirled at the pin

  And no one so ready as Lord Thomas himself

  To let fair Ellender in.

  He took her by her lily-white hand

  When leading her through the hall

  Saying,“Fifty gay ladies are here today

  But here is the flower of them all.”

  “Is this your bride, Lord Thomas?” she said.

  “She looks most wonderful brown

  You might have had as a fair a woman

  As ever trod Scotland’s ground.”

  “Despise her not, Fair Ellender,” he cried.

  “Despise her not to me

  For I love the end of your little finger

  More than her whole body.”

  The Brown Girl, she was standing by

  With knife ground keen and sharp,

  Between the long ribs and the short,

  She pierced Fair Ellender’s heart.

  “Oh, what’s the matter?” Lord Thomas said.

  “You look so pale and wan;

  You used to have so fair a color

  As ever the sun shone on.”

  Here it comes, he thought. The ending! The story of “Fair Ellender” he knew well—too well. Ellender D’Arcy began the madness; her love of Arawn Benning marked them—all the generations to follow—and Fitzwilliam Darcy fought to stop the evil she brought on his family. Knowingly, or unknowingly, Elizabeth Bennet sang on:

  “Oh, you are blind, Lord Thomas!” she said.

  “Or can’t you very well see?

  Oh, can’t you see my own heart’s blood

  As it trickles down on thee?”

  He took the Brown Girl by the hand

  And led her across the hall.

  He took off his sword and cut off her head

  And threw it against the wall.

  “Oh, Mother, oh, Mother, go dig my grave;

  Go dig it both wide and deep,

  And place Fair Ellender in my arms

  And the Brown Girl at my feet.”

  He placed his sword against the wall

  The point against his breast,

  Saying,“This is the end of three poor lovers

  God take us all to rest.”

  They buried Ellender in the old churchyard;

  They buried Lord Thomas beside her.

  Out of his grave grew a red, red rose,

  And out of hers a briar.

  They grew and grew up the old church wall

  Till they could grow no higher,

  And at the top twined a lover’s knot

  The red rose and the briar.1

  “Miss Elizabeth,” Sir William cried, “you clearly brought me to tears. Such a song!”

  Elizabeth dropped her eyes, looking away demurely.“I apologize, Sir William. I did not mean to place a cold sheet on your festivities.”

  “Really, Miss Elizabeth, it was worth the silence to hear one of the traditional ballads done so well; so few people these days remember them.”

  Darcy stood near, praying for another topic of conversation. Engrossed in his thoughts, he took little note of Mary Bennet succeeding Elizabeth at the pianoforte, nor did he approve of her younger sisters’ demand that Mary perform Scottish and Irish airs instead of a concerto. Bingley joined the group of dancers, along with several of the officers; yet Darcy still did not move—he could not—would not.

  When Sir William stepped up beside him and engaged in conversation, Darcy wanted no part of the man. He wanted only to retreat to his room and sort out the chaos. He wanted to go home to Pemberley or even to Overton House, but the vast emptiness of How could the man expect him to maintain such an asinine conversation when he just lost his soul—hexed by the truth of her words? Moments ticked breathlessly away while Darcy remained silently reserved until Elizabeth came into view again, and despite wanting to throttle her—wanting to run away from her—wanting to question what she knew of him—his body betrayed him, and Darcy hungrily devoured her with his eyes.

  Sir William summoned her, and Darcy silently moaned in despair. He needed to be somewhere else, somewhere far away from her. “My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing?—Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner.You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you.”

  If Darcy had bothered to look, he would have, obviously, seen that Elizabeth was as miserable as he. She protested immediately, taking a steadying breath. How could she let Darcy know she could not forget the look on his face as she sang? At first, she thought him critical again, but now she was certain she had hurt him somehow. Suddenly, everything she thought about him turned upside down. “Indeed, Sir, I have not the least intention of dancing.”

  Her voice brought him back to reality, and although he still held the dread of her knowing a secret he swore to take to his grave, Elizabeth’s presence—her proximity—forced him to react. Unsettled by his spiraling desire, Darcy forgot his previous trepidation; he wanted to dance with her—like a moth compelled to follow the flame, he felt a need to be near her.“Miss Elizabeth, may I have the honor of this dance?” He offered her a proper bow.

  “I appreciate your gallantry, Mr. Darcy, but without meaning offense, I will decline.” Instinctively, she knew she could not risk touching him—taking his hand. Elizabeth was not sure if she wanted to know of more Mr. Darcy.

  She walked away, but the spell Elizabeth cast on him remained: She was an enigma—one he desperately wanted to solve.The fact that she did not set designs on him went a long way in holding must know more of the woman.

  Caroline Bingley suddenly appeared in his path. He had managed to avoid her for several days. Smiling, Miss Bingley placated his every thought. “You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner—in such society, and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity and yet the noise—the nothingness—and yet the self-importance of all these people!—What would I give to hear your strictures on them!”

  Darcy knew how to send her away. “Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I meditated on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.”

  “Who might credit such inspiration?” she cried coquettishly.

  “Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” He smiled as he said her name.

  Caroline took immediate offense, but Darcy was unmoved by the wound he had dealt to her vanity. Only his Elizabeth brought forth any interest.

  When she walked away, Elizabeth felt Darcy’s eyes burning her back. She thought she recognized his interest. Where a few hours ago she might have thought him critical, she now believed he watched for another reason, and she took delight in his attention. She could almost smell his desire. She had never expected this turn of events. Or was it as she thought? Did she imagine what she hoped she saw or did she truly affect him? She tilted her chin determinedly. If he was besotted, she would use his intere
st for her own purposes—and soon.

  A week later, Darcy and Bingley returned home from a pleasant evening with the militia officers to find Jane Bennet unwell and staying at Netherfield. She had joined Bingley’s sisters for dinner and taken ill, the result of becoming soaked in a rainstorm. Bingley loved the idea, although his sisters felt put upon.

  Darcy found Mrs. Bennet’s maneuverings mildly amusing. She, obviously, had set it up for her eldest daughter to be overcome and be at Bingley’s mercy.They were, of course, chaperoned by his sisters. What a perfect way to snare a husband, he thought. Perhaps the woman should write a manual for young unmarried ladies.

  When there was nothing for him to do, Darcy left the Bingleys to tend to their patient and headed to bed. As he undressed, an errant thought occurred to him. If Jane Bennet were to remain at Netherfield for several days, Elizabeth Bennet would join her. He audibly moaned; he and Elizabeth would be in the same house. On the one hand, the thought excited him.And on the other, it threatened his sanity. Darcy had not recovered from their most recent encounter. He had wanted so much to dance with her—to hold her in his arms; and he wanted to stop her singing by kissing her sweet lips—her ears—her neck. Every time he thought of it, he imagined Elizabeth at the pianoforte singing his song and then standing slowly and walking into his embrace.They would cling to each other—tongues dueling—silencing his words and even his thoughts. It was one of his favorite dreams of late. Now they could create new dreams, he and Elizabeth. Despite his resolve not to marry, Darcy could not help himself when it came to Elizabeth Bennet.Whether he admitted it aloud or not, she possessed part of his soul. He would battle his demons some other way.