Becoming His

by J L Pearl

  “I should probably get out of the house,” Mr. Bennet said with a knowing smile. “At any rate, she will be happier even if she only believes I am going about, gathering information from door to door.”

  Elizabeth returned her father’s smile and listened to his footsteps as he left the library and headed outside. She took a deep breath. Alone, then, in the study, with all the materials to which she had access, she began skimming the titles of books, looking for anything that might illuminate this latest mystery.

  “Songs of the Sea,” she mumbled to herself, shaking her head and moving on to the next title. “Dictionary of Common Terms… New and Most Fashionable Pieces for the Harp and Pianoforte… no, no.” She sighed. This was a practical family library, not a reserve of deep, hidden knowledge. Where to begin?

  Her eyes stopped on a small, dull tome. She pulled it out and blew dust from the cover. “Mysteries Most Fantastyck,” she read. It was most likely a fiction, but it sounded more likely to involve her query than anything else. She took a quick breath when, upon opening it, she realized it was an encyclopaedia of sorts rather than a novel. There was promise after all. She flipped to the entry, which read as follows:

  “Vampyre: creature of the devil, creature of the night. You will know a vampyre by the following signs: the recent death of a loved one or community member, especially by the wasting sickness, and the disturbance of their grave; a blood moon or no moon at all; a sudden or otherwise inexplicable onset of the wasting sickness among friends or family of the deceased; and finally, the most bloody and gruesome deaths imaginable. This most foul abomination is to be avoided at all costs, but if it cannot be, then the body of the vampyre must be exhumed, the heart cut out, dried, ground into a powder, and consumed by all infected parties, and the body destroyed by fyre.”

  Elizabeth fell back in a chair, releasing the breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. This was a grisly business indeed. But such terrible cures were surely nothing more than folklore? And if a supernatural creature of the devil were indeed responsible for the murders up the lane, would the neighborhood not be better off recruiting a priest to counter said diabolical powers?

  “That’s an odd looking book.” Elizabeth startled at the voice and dropped the encyclopaedia on the floor. It landed with a hollow thud.

  “Mary! You gave me a scare.”

  Her younger sister Mary was an odd sort, and she seemed particularly odd this morning. Her face, always fair, looked exceptionally pale. Her mien, always sombre, occasionally morose, seemed altered to Elizabeth. Was that mischief, even, twinkling in her sister’s eyes?

  “I apologize, dear sister,” Mary said in her quiet, monotone voice. “It was not intended. But you must know I frequently come to the library to study.”

  “Ah, yes, of course.” To study what, Elizabeth almost asked, but thought better of it. She had heard enough of Mary’s soliloquies on whatever subject—usually highly moralized—had captured her interest at any given time. “I’ll just be on my way.” She moved to pick up the book, but Mary bent down and scooped it up with something like a smile.

  “No need,” she said. “We can study together. What are we reading about?”

  Through the open window the sound of horses in the lane interrupted their conversation. Elizabeth took the book from Mary, distracted for a moment, and replaced it on the shelf before joining her at the window.

  “We have many visitors of late,” Mary said. Her tone had resumed its typical lack of jolity.

  “Yes.” Elizabeth frowned. It was Mr. Bingley, no doubt come to call on Jane again.

  And Mr. Darcy was with him.

  Mr. Bringley dismounted, asking immediately after the safety of everyone in the house. Jane, who had come to the door behind Hild, the servant, assured him that they were well. Then Mrs. Bennet arrived behind Jane and made much over Mr. Bingley’s arrival.

  “How perfectly gentlemanly of you, Mr. Bingley! How gallant! I only wish there were more men in the neighborhood who were willing to leave the safety of their own homes to make sure of the safety of others!” As she said these words her voice grew smug and self-righteous, and Elizabeth, who had left the library and joined the party, knew that her mother was referring indirectly to Mr. Bennet.

  “I am so very relieved,” Mr. Bingley said, “to find you all well, m’am. And I am especially glad of seeing you again, Miss Bennet.” He smiled at Jane as he said this last bit, then looked up to their mother. “Might I ask your permission, m’am, to escort your daughter on a walk? I am sure that taking some air would do us all good after the horrors that have come. We will be sure to take the lane in the opposite direction.”

  “Heavens, yes!” Mrs. Bennet cried. “Please, go and at once, and take your time, sweet Jane, take all the time you need.” She nodded and smiled as she said this, doubtless unaware of the impropriety her own manner implied.

  “Without a chaperone?” Mary asked. All turned to see her frowning, pale face. “Honestly, mother. I am amazed you would allow it.”

  “I will be their chaperone,” Mr. Darcy said.

  “Well,” Mrs. Bennet simpered, “that’s all settled, then. Mary, go and practice your pianoforte.”

  A knot tightened in Elizabeth’s stomach. She could not allow Jane to leave the house alone with the gentlemen; not after recent events. She would never forgive herself if anything were to happen to the sweetest person she knew.

  “I’m coming too,” she said, tying on a bonnet as she stepped through the entryway.

  Mr. Darcy inclined his head. “As you will, Ms. Bennet.”

  4.

  Inspector Gerald was tired. He and Davis had been up and down the lane for hours, trudging through yards and gardens to track down anyone living in the neighborhood to check on their safety and root for information. So far no one had known anything, though plenty of the neighbors had had questions of their own.

  “How many killers are there?”

  “How did they get up from the city?”

  “Is it true the house was packed with bodies, wall to wall?”

  He rubbed his temples. People had questions, he could understand that. Some deserved an answer. Most did not.

  “Here’s another one,” Davis said, nodding ahead. The trees on the right side of the lane opened into a pleasant, modest garden, which led up to a pleasant, modest house. The sound of horses neighing drifted gently through the property from a little stable set off to the side.

  “Hello the house!” Gerald called. The door swung open to reveal a servant woman as the two men approached. “Good morning, lady. Is the lord of the house at home?”

  “He is not.” She did not elaborate.

  Davis cleared his throat. “Is everyone well?”

  “All’s well that’s here, if that’s who you mean.”

  Davis raised his eyebrows.

  “Hild?” A woman’s voice called from inside. “Oh, Hild! Whatever are you doing, standing at the door? The draft will be the death of me!”

  The servant—Hild, presumedly—turned to call over her shoulder. “Strangers, m’am. Asking after the well-being of the household.”

  The woman who had spoken appeared. She was middle-aged, dressed somewhat shabily, and had an air of extreme discomfort. “Yes?” she said. “And who might you be?”

  Gerald inclined his head in a sort of bow. “Goodday, lady. I am Inspector Gerald, and this is my associate, Inspector Davis.”

  “Oh!” The woman’s demeanor changed somewhat as a flicker of interest passed over her face. “Inspectors? Are you here because of the dreadful thing that has happened down the way? You know, we are some of their closest neighbors. Any information you have that could help us ensure our safety, anything at all you can tell us about what happened or what you have seen—”

  Gerald held up a hand, pausing her mid-sentence. He’d dealt with enough busibodies for one day. “If you’ve already heard the news, m’am, we’ve nothing new to tell you. There has indeed been an inciden
t, and we’re here to make sure everything looks well here, and to learn anything we can from you about it.”

  “From me?” The woman pressed a hand to her breast and her eyes lit up, as if all her life she had been waiting for someone to come along and ask for her opinion on something, and it had not yet happened. “Well, gentlemen, you are in luck! It just so happens I am the foremost authority on the goings-on in this part of the countryside, and I am only too happy to fill your ear with everything I know. Please, please! Come in! It’s only a shame my dear Lizzie is out for a stroll, or she would be the one to tell you all about what she saw. Only, perhaps you’d like to stay for tea, and then you may still be here when she returns? Not that she knows much of anything useful, really. Sweet Lydia is at home, and her stories are far more diverting. Lydia? Come down here, love! We have callers who wish to hear news of the neighbors! Come in, come in!”

  As she spoke, the ushered them inside and called up a staircase by turns. But Gerald was stopped short by her mention of a girl who had seen something.

  “Excuse me,” he said, interrupting her. “But did you say just now that a member of your household saw something odd?”

  “Odd, oh heavens! I’m not sure that’s word enough for it!”

  Davis pulled out a scrap of paper, nodding. “And this girl is out of the house just now?”

  “Yes, yes. She simply insisted on going with my sweet Jane and her beau, a Mr. Bingley—perhaps you know of him? A fine gentleman indeed—though I know not why, as his companion, Mr. Darcy, is a most disagreeable sort. He paid Lizzie the cruelest slight just days ago. But I don’t know. They say he has… goodness, they say he has ten thousand per annum! So perhaps Lizzie has changed her tune.” Her eyes sparkled.

  “Indeed,” Davis replied. “Do you happen to know in which direction they went?”

  The woman frowned. “I’ve no idea. But there’s no need to go after them; they’ll be alright. It’s us you should be worried about. And come now, I have ever so much to tell you!”

  “How can you be sure of their safety?” Gerald asked.

  “Because they expressly told me they intended to go in the opposite direction as that house of horrors! They have no wish to revisit it, believe me. I—here now, where are you going? Come back! I have so much more to tell you!”

  Outside the house Gerald found tracks. A group of perhaps four had left and headed toward the lane, then continued on to the west, away from the scene of the murders.

  He pursued.

  5.

  The day was overcast but not cold, and if Elizabeth felt a chill it came not from the weather but rather from the company. Her sister and Mr. Bingley walked side by side about fifty paces ahead. Jane seemed so very happy. Her escort laughed and spoke in an animated voice. They were the picture of a perfect couple.

  But Elizabeth, trailing behind, walked in silence. Beside her strode her own self-appointed escort. Mr. Darcy proved taciturn for the first full five minutes. When Jane and Mr. Bingley seemed finally out of earshot from quiet conversation, he enquired after her health.

  “I am well, thank you,” she replied. “And you, sir?”

  “Well enough, thank you. Though no one enjoys being near the sort of sordid affair that has taken place now.”

  “No indeed.”

  As before, Elizabeth experienced an odd mixture of sensations being in his presence. There was fear and uncertainty, yes, and perhaps doubly so, now that she had witnessed the inexplicable events of the morning. But there was also something else, something just as primal, just as bestial, but of an entirely different nature roiling in her loins.

  Mr. Darcy was, simply put, the most attractive man upon which she had ever lain eyes. And with his mystique, his lofty bearing, his quiet manner—such a combination was difficult to resist on a purely biological level.

  “I suppose I should thank you, Mr. Darcy,” she said, “for coming to check on my family. My mother has been out of sorts all morning. She must appreciate the consideration.”

  He inclined his head ever so slightly. “And do you appreciate it, Miss Elizabeth?”

  “I appreciate the air. The walk.” She could not bring herself to include “the company.”

  “At any rate, I am here for Bingley.”

  “Ah.”

  “He has a heart of gold, that man, but sometimes it is far larger than his head. He needs looking after, from time to time, by someone of a… cooler temprement.”

  “And that someone is you?” She thought of his scandalous words to her at the ball and wrinkled her brow, finding the implication ridiculous. Mr. Darcy may be aloof, but he was not prudent.

  “It is, yes, at present.”

  “You do not consider yourself someone given to fits of passion, then?”

  “Certainly not.”

  Elizabeth paused. When she spoke again, her voice was barely audible. “And what of the thing you said to me?”

  Mr. Darcy frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

  “What you said to me. Just two nights ago, the night we met. Just as I was leaving—do you not recall?”

  “I do not. I do not recall addressing you directly at any point in the evening.”

  She stopped completely, jaw agape. “Are you honestly going to deny it?”

  “Miss Elizabeth, I do not know what you mean. Perhaps you would care to refresh my memory?”

  “You… oh, goodness.” She cleared her throat. He looked earnest, waiting patiently. Did he truly not recall? How was that possible? No. He must be ashamed of himself, and he thought that by denying it had ever happened, he could escape the consequences of his innapproriate words. That had to be it.

  She had just worked up the nerve to repeat to him, word for word, his lewd statement, when thunder broke. Mr. Darcy glanced upward, his frown deepening. “It rains a great deal in the country,” he said.

  “Do you hear that, Darcy?” Mr. Bingley had turned around, a hand to his ear.

  “Of course we heard it, man. Thunder.”

  “No—listen!”

  All four grew still. Elizabeth’s eyes widened. From further up the lane she heard the pounding of hooves, as if the devil himself were beating a horse to run as fast as it could. When the mount and rider came into view, she decided her guess might not be far off.

  “Get off the road,” Mr. Darcy commanded, taking her by the arm. She recoiled from his touch, not wanting to be taken against her will, but his grip was like iron. He directed her off the lane and behind a stand of trees just to the side. Ahead, Jane and Mr. Bingley had done the same.

  “I do not require your assistance, sir,” she seethed. Even hidden as they now were, he retained his hold on her. She made to break free once more. In response, he grabbed her other arm.

  “Be still,” he said. Something in his voice caused her to obey.

  The horse was as black as the night, and it frothed at the mouth as it galloped past. Its rider gave nothing away. He—Elizabeth assumed a man from the strength of his build—was cloaked and hooded, his identity a mystery, all in thick black cloth. In a moment he was gone. But for just the instant when he rode past, all the levity Elizabeth had ever known seemed to shrivel and die, as if the world would never know laughter again.

  Mr. Darcy’s hands relaxed but remained on her arms.

  “I believe the danger is past,” she said softly.

  “Let us wait a moment to see.”

  He stood behind her, so close she thought she could feel his breath gently against the skin of her neck. It raised goose pimples, but they were not of fear. They were of pleasure. His hands, so strong and inescapable, radiated warmth into her skin, and she realized she had not known she had been chilled. He felt good, even holding her so unromantically. Strong. Capable. Utterly desirable.

  When she spoke again she did little to mask the emotion in her voice.

  “Have you decided I am yours to protect, Mr. Darcy?”

  “I would not take such a claim lightly,” he replied, softly and war
mly.

  Elizabeth turned to face him. For a moment they locked eyes and said nothing. She willed herself past all the fear and desire warring within her and just gazed into the wells of his soul.

  He was beautiful.

  “But if I needed protection?” she whispered.

  “Then I would claim you, yes. I would indeed.”

  He let go of her and took a step back. Elizabeth broke eye contact with him, even though her body fairly cried out to fall into his arms, and glanced back to the lane. Jane and Mr. Bingley had come out of hiding.

  “Who was that?” Jane asked.

  Mr. Darcy strode out to meet them. “I do not know. But it is clearly unsafe to be outside. Bingley, we should escort the ladies home immediately.”

  Mr. Bingley nodded. “I’m afraid I agree. Jane, we will stay with your family for the day, if you wish it. I would by no means leave you without protection while such men are riding about. Darcy, you will remain as well?”

  Elizabeth looked at Mr. Darcy, the question in her eyes, but said nothing. He glanced back and for a moment their eyes met again. Warmth spread through her body, blush rose to her cheeks, and the longings of her lustful dreams sprang to mind. Oh, the things she could do with Mr. Darcy if she were given an empty house. Or bed.

  Or stable.

  “Yes, I believe I shall.”

  TO BE CONTINUED…

  Taught by Mr. Darcy

  a steamy Pride & Prejudice variation

  by JL Pearl

  Becoming His, Part 3

  Copyright 2019 JL Pearl, all rights reserved.

  This scene is a work of original fiction using characters from Jane Austen’s beloved novel, Pride & Prejudice. This story is very steamy, and should be enjoyed responsibly by readers of a certain age.

  1.

  “I believe we shall lose them in the rain if we do not find them soon.” Inspector Davis groused as he walked, his considerable weight shifting from left to right and back. His partner, Inspector Gerald, shook his head.