Authors: Sarah A. Hoyt
Tags: #Fiction, #General, #darcy, #Jane Austen, #Dragons, #Romance, #Fantasy, #pride and prejudice, #elizabeth bennet, #shifters, #weres
A Touch of Night (11 page)
* * * *
That evening they were to go to Rosings, and Elizabeth 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, Elizabeth 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 be tolerable -- she supposed -- Elizabeth 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," Elizabeth 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. Elizabeth 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," Elizabeth said, thinking that then neither could her brother.
"Yes. Yes..."
Silence fell again for a while, but when Elizabeth 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.
Elizabeth 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, ma'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.
Chapter Ten
Elizabeth had stayed up quite late, hoping the dragon would come and pay a visit, though she hardly wanted to admit that, even to herself. She stood by the open window, leaning against the casement and looking out into the velvety night sky, breathing in the scents of flowers and trees and thinking that she was being a very great fool. A very great fool indeed.
If she did not love the man, why did she wish to encourage the dragon to fly past her window again and again? If she did not love the man, why did she want the dragon to come? Why did she want to caress the soft green muzzle again? Was it the dragon or the man who attracted her, or was it both? What was it that drew her so strongly?
It was, she decided later in the night, that he'd been so bereft of affection. Yes, she was sure that was it. He'd been bereft of affection and she wished to have him know that not everyone despised
weres
. That was the only reason she stood by the window, in her bare feet and nightgown, the chill night air seeping into her room. The reason she stood waiting till her feet were quite cold and her eyes threatening to close under their own weight.
At long last, when she judged from the moon it must be nearing midnight, she went to bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. But a few short hours after falling asleep, violent pounding on the front door of the house awakened her.
Before she could even conjecture what the noise was, the pounding was followed by the sound of the door opening and then a confused babble of voices.
There was obviously some distressing news that had aroused the household. Elizabeth was too responsible not to feel called to take some part in the proceedings. Getting up, she pulled on her dressing gown and rushed down the stairs. The tiny entrance hallway was a scene of pandemonium.
Charlotte and Mr. Collins, the latter looking very simian, were standing bundled up in robes in the open doorway. Sir William Lucas hovered at Mr. Collins' shoulder, his bed-cap askew. Maria stood a few paces back, her hair tied up in rags, clutching a woolen shawl tightly about herself. A carriage stood in the street, steam rising from the horses' backs as they shuffled restlessly in their harnesses.
In the doorway was a man that Elizabeth recognized. Indeed, he was none other than Joseph, her uncle's manservant. "Miss Bennet," he said as he spied her at the foot of the stairs. "These people would not send for you."
"Indeed not," Charlotte said, and turned to Elizabeth, looking fully baffled. "This man insisted we should bring you... that we wake you now, in the middle of the night. He would give no explanation but that it had to do with Jane."
"Jane?" Elizabeth said, suddenly awake and aware. "What has happened to Jane?"
"Miss Bennet has a fever which, as the doctor says, has turned putrid," Joseph said. He doffed his hat and looked at her earnestly out of his washed-out blue eyes.
A man of near seventy, Elizabeth had known him and his unswerving loyalty to her relatives since she was a very young child. She trusted him implicitly.
"Mrs. Gardiner wishes you to come, Miss. She thinks Miss Bennet might take a bad turn, and that you would wish to be with her. She said at whatever hour I got here, you were to return with me, right away, and she would send someone for your things later. Miss, it is important..."
"Yes, yes," Elizabeth said, thinking there was more involved than a fever, whether putrid or not. "Yes, of course. I shall change out of my night clothes and come right away."
"But, Elizabeth," cried Charlotte. "Can you not wait till morning? It is but a four-hour drive to London. You would be there before noon, and well rested to help nurse Jane. Your uncle's man could take the carriage to the inn where they can attend to the horses. Can you not see the poor animals are all lathered with sweat?"
"The horses are in fine fettle to journey back to London, ma'am," said Joseph to Charlotte. "My groom will rub them down now whilst Miss Elizabeth makes herself presentable."
"I still cannot like it," cried Charlotte as she and Elizabeth began up the stairs. "To travel so far so late -- think of the dangers, Elizabeth. There could be highwaymen, or the carriage could have an accident, driving so fast in the dark."
"Charlotte," said Elizabeth. "Do not worry. Joseph is very able and there is almost a full moon outside."
"A full moon?" cried Maria who was following them up the stairs. "Oh, Elizabeth! You cannot possibly travel all alone during a full moon!" Her eyes grew as big as saucers and she clutched her shawl even tighter about herself. "You could be set upon by werewolves or
were-bears
! Father says that a
were-dragon
has been seen in these parts!"
"Nonsense!" cried Charlotte. "A
were-dragon
in Kent? Lady Catherine would not allow such a creature in her domain. Do not give credence to rumours, Maria. If Elizabeth insists upon travelling tonight I do not want her to be worrying about something so unlikely as a were attack."
Elizabeth laughed. "You yourself were trying to frighten me with highwaymen only a moment ago. Do not worry, Charlotte. I am so full of concern for Jane I can think of little else. An attack by
were-beasts
would be a welcome distraction. My sister is ill and I must be with her. Cannot you understand? I would not sleep at all, knowing that she needs me."
Charlotte sighed. "I know, Elizabeth. You are such a good sister. While you dress I shall go to the kitchen and make you a cup of tea to sustain you for your trip."
"Thank you, Charlotte," said Elizabeth, hugging her.
As she closed her door behind her, Elizabeth heard Maria say to Charlotte. "It was not a rumour! Papa told me. I am so worried for Elizabeth with a
were-dragon
on the loose."
"Hush," said Charlotte. "There are times when it is best to keep your concerns to yourself."
Elizabeth rushed to the wardrobe and took out a serviceable gown. As she dressed she allowed a vision of the dragon to pass before her eyes. If he were to accompany her carriage on the road to London, she knew she would gain some measure of comfort from gazing from time to time into his green eyes. But she knew that could not be. And she knew that she must think only of Jane. At this moment she was all that mattered.
When Elizabeth came downstairs a few minutes later, Charlotte had a cup of tea and a plate of cakes waiting for her. Elizabeth tried her best to eat and drink for Charlotte's sake, but she could think of little more than that Jane needed her, and that the sooner she was in the carriage and on the road to London, the sooner she would be with Jane. She managed one slice of cake and half a cup of tea before she stood and embraced Charlotte.
"I must go."
"Take care, Elizabeth," said Charlotte. "I hope you find Jane improved upon your arrival."
"I hope so too," said Elizabeth and then she hurried out into the night and boarded the carriage. Joseph climbed up on the box beside the coachman and signaled for them to leave. Charlotte stood in the open doorway long after the carriage had driven off into the dark, oblivious to the urgent 'ook's from her husband who hopped impatiently from one foot to the other beside her.