Darkness Falls Upon Pemberley (4 page)

S
ix

When Darcy awakened it was nearly dawn. His body was no longer ravaged by fever, but soothed by slender fingers and a pliant form. Every touch bestowed upon him was gentle, lingering, and undeniably affectionate. Each caressing pass over his body radiated incomparable heat that seared his skin and warmed him from within, despite the surprisingly icy temperature of her flesh. Darcy drew a shuddering breath, inhaled her sweetness, and silently prayed the young woman draped across his chest was indeed real and not merely a figment of his over-active imagination. Pressing his lips to the top of her head, he acted upon impulse and encircled her in his arms, holding her as he’d so often desired, but never truly believed to be possible.

“Mr. Darcy?” she whispered, lifting her head from his shoulder with a start to look upon him, concern and relief apparent in her eyes.

He sighed with contentment and wound his fingers into her hair, cradling the back of her head and easing her closer until their foreheads nearly touched. “Elizabeth,” he rasped, his voice hoarse after heaven-knows how many days without use. “Thank God you’re here.”

“Yes,” she murmured with feeling. “Thank God. Thank God you are out of danger.”

Her breath was ambrosia against his lips, and Darcy desperately wanted to taste her; to capture her mouth with his in a tender, heartfelt kiss. “Elizabeth,” he repeated on a breath, his eyes intent upon her lips.

He watched in fascination as the tip of her tongue appeared, moistening her bottom lip before disappearing once more. “I am here, dear sir.”

Before Darcy could act, however, the sound of a throat being discreetly cleared was heard and Jennings emerged from the sitting room, a hint of amusement in his expression as he addressed his master warmly. “You certainly had us worried, sir. Did he not, Miss Bennet?”

Elizabeth nodded once, a curt inclination of her head, before expelling a tremulous breath and slowly withdrawing from Darcy’s embrace.

Already the master of Pemberley missed the comfort of her touch more than he could say—more than he could even fathom—and was on the verge of commanding her to return to him when the impropriety of their situation suddenly hit him with the force of a runaway carriage. Shocked, Darcy gaped at her, his words catching in his throat as he watched Elizabeth silently lift the counterpane and slip from his bed, hurriedly smoothing the creases in her dressing gown with unsteady fingers. To his dismay, he realized it was the same gown he’d envisioned her wearing in his dream the previous night.

Good God, what a
dream it was—so strange and disturbing. Darcy frowned. At least, it had certainly felt like a dream to him at the time…

Darcy’s inhalation was swift and sharp, and brought on a coughing fit that wracked his body. Ever efficient, Jennings procured a glass of water and assisted his master to drink while Elizabeth hovered at his bedside, her expression deeply troubled as Darcy’s coughing slowly abated. He dropped his head back onto the pillows and closed his eyes, his head spinning as the missing pieces settled into place.

Last night had been no fever-induced dream! Elizabeth Bennet had indeed come to his bedchamber—at the behest of his valet, no less—and lain with him in his bed. At one point Jennings had argued with her and brashly accused her of being something unthinkable: he’d accused her of being like Georgiana.

Impossible,” Darcy whispered raggedly, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes.
Impossible!
There was no way Elizabeth, so perfect and pure of heart, could possibly be such an unspeakable creature anymore than his most trusted servant could have suggested such an abhorrent thing to her in the first place.

But the image of his fif
teen-year-old sister immediately came to mind and gave him reason to pause. It was true. Georgiana was indeed a vampyre, but she was still essentially the same sweet, kind-hearted, inherently good girl she had always been. She still loved music—Bach and Beethoven—and played her pianoforte as beautifully as she ever had. Of course, her more recent proclivities had presented a bit of a challenge initially, most of her focus being on her music master and the pulsing artery beneath his cravat than the new sheet music he’d brought with him from Vienna. Fortunately, Darcy and Fitzwilliam were able to usher her out of the music room before she could give herself away, or—God forbid—inflict any damage upon the poor, unsuspecting gentleman.

Darcy shuddered at the remembrance and chanced a look at Elizabeth, who regarded him
cautiously, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. His heart pounded against his ribs as he studied her beloved face—her dark eyes, her snow-white skin, her pale lips. All the signs were there, staring steadily back at him, leaving him in no doubt of the truth. He wondered why on earth he’d never made the connection before. Impulsively, he reached out and took her hand in his. It was as he’d suspected. Her fingers were freezing; colder than ice—nay, as cold as death itself.

Elizabeth’s expression was nothing short of terrified as she attempted to snatch her hand away, but Darcy held fast to her, refusing to release her so easily. To his surprise, Elizabeth relented and allowed it.

“Jennings,” he muttered darkly, his eyes fixed upon the woman before him as he struggled to regain his composure. “I shall deal with you later. Right now I desire a private audience with Miss Bennet.”

†

“Your hands, madam,” Darcy said as he looked pointedly into her eyes, “are freezing. You must warm yourself by the fire before you catch your death.”

Elizabeth released a tremulous breath. “I believe we both know a fire will do little to warm me. As for catching my death, it is kind of you to worry, but you should concern yourself with your own health. There is very little you, or anyone else, can do about the state of mine.” She bowed her head. “I feel deeply for your dear sister, though. To become…what she is, and at so young an age, cannot be a happy thing for either of you.”

“Indeed,” he muttered. The physical distance between them was far closer than what was considered proper in any circumstance, but at the moment even a few inches seemed too great a divide, even after such a startling revelation. Darcy tugged firmly on her hand, effectively pulling her onto the bed to sit beside him. A
fter all was said and done, the fact that Elizabeth was a vampyre inspired no fear or abhorrence in him, but the outrage he felt on her behalf for the atrocities he imagined she’d endured before and during her transformation was another matter.

Though he’d watched, alarmed as she threatened his
only-too-human valet the night before, seeing her as she was now—her gaze soft, almost sorrowful—only confirmed what Darcy had always believed in his heart: that it wasn’t in Elizabeth’s nature to willfully inflict harm on anyone for any reason, least of all someone for whom she cared. In fact, she’d not only listened to Jennings, but allowed him to persuade her to nurse Darcy back to health in a most unconventional and improper manner, and at great personal risk—not only to her reputation, but to her family’s as well. Darcy knew no one so generous, or so good, save perhaps for Georgiana. Yes. The woman at his side was still his Elizabeth in every way that mattered. To Darcy, she could never—
would
never—be anything else.

Elizabeth spoke
then, and the softness of her voice soothed him, even though her words had the opposite effect. “May I inquire as to how your sister became…like me?”

Unconsciously, Darcy tightened his grip on her hand. It was a story he’d much rather forget, but for Elizabeth he’d do anything, even relive the most painful day of his life.

“She was taken from school,” he began, “to Ramsgate, where an establishment was procured for her. Her companion, a Mrs. Young, in whose character we were grievously deceived, resided there with her. Rather than act as chaperone to Georgiana, she neglected her and carelessly granted her liberties she should not have been permitted, such as walking to the seaside without so much as a maid to accompany her. One day, while wandering through the village, Georgiana was approached by a man. She was then but fifteen.”

Darcy shut his eyes, his pain as fresh as the day he’d arrived and discovered them. “I believe his main object was her dowry of £30,000, and that in order to obtain it he intended to seduce her, then convince her to elope with him; but, unwilling to grieve a brother more than ten years her senior, Georgiana wrote to me and I joined them unexpectedly, before he’d been abl
e to succeed with his seduction or obtain her consent.

“I’d spoilt his carefully laid plans, and his anger and resentment was such that he meant to punish me for my interference by killing her. He told me so just before he sank his teeth into her neck. By the grace of God, I was able to tear her away from him before he could do his worst. His bite was not fatal and any injuries she’d sustained were healed during her transformation.

“I need not tell you the life Georgiana leads now is not the life she knew before. She was spared from true death, only to be condemned to another fate no less grievous, and every bit as final.”

“Does the
hateful one who bit Miss Darcy still walk this earth?” she asked.

“No. My cousin Richard, with whom I share guardianship of Georgiana, is a colonel in Her Majesty’s Army. He aided me in my revenge. The villain may be no more, but my sweet, innocent sister must forever suffer his curse.”

“I am sorry for all of you,” Elizabeth whispered feelingly. “It is a dreadful infliction; one I would not wish upon my worst enemy, never mind one as undeserving of such unsolicited horror as your young sister undoubtedly was.”

Darcy merely inclined his head. “And what of you, Miss Bennet?” he asked sedately. “How is it that you have come to be in a similar state
as my sister?”

“Oh no,” she responded with a frown. “I’m afraid the story of my immortality isn’t half a
s sinister as poor Miss Darcy’s. As a matter of fact, it’s rather insignificant in comparison.”

“Nothing about you is insignificant, but if speaking of it distresses you, then you need
not relate the particulars to me. In fact, I will never ask you again.”

The barest hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “You flatter me, Mr. Darcy,” she said, taking a deep breath as she tucked a long, glossy curl behind her ear. “
Very well. As you might already know, my father’s estate is entailed away from the female line, requiring him to sire a son to succeed him and to ensure my mother and any unmarried children may remain at Longbourn after his death. Since he and my mother failed to produce a male heir, Longbourn will pass to a distant cousin in Kent.

“Though we are comfortable, we are hardly rich. My sisters and I have no dowries to speak of, so my father, in his desperation to provide for us, traveled several years ago to the darkest corner of London. He’d heard mention of a gentleman who, for a price, would assist him in taking very specific measures to ensure he’d remain master of Longbourn, always.”

Darcy could hardly credit what he was hearing. “You cannot mean…” he whispered, horror-struck at the lengths to which Mr. Bennet would go in order to keep his legacy within his family.

Elizabeth turned aside her head. “Yes,” she quietly confirmed.
“My father shall live forever, and I am to be his companion.”

S
even

“What of your mother and sisters?” Darcy inquired. He’d always thought Elizabeth favoured her father while her sisters resembled their mother, but it was now evident that Mr. Bennet’s second daughter had far more in common with her father than mere physical appearance.

Elizabeth shook her head. “They are human, though Jane
 knows precisely what we are and why. She has kept our secret and always shall, but I fear it’s been very hard on her. She is constantly worried for us, as you must also worry for your sister.”

“Of course,” he agreed absently, running his hand over his mouth, deep in thought. While he could relate to Mr. Bennet’s desire—and even his desperation—to provide for his family using whatever means were within his grasp, after seeing Georgiana through
the agony of her transformation and the harried, emotional months that followed, the master of Pemberley disagreed with the elder man’s solution, especially when Mr. Bennet’s decision ultimately sentenced Elizabeth, a favourite child, to such a difficult and dangerous existence.

“Your father made a conscious choice, did he not, to become what he is?” he asked.

“He did. Though I’ve often questioned his sanity, I’ve never questioned his devotion. He cares for us, and paid the ultimate price in order to assure our future at Longbourn.”

Darcy resisted the urge to snort derisively. In his opinion, Mr. Bennet would have done far bet
ter to save and invest his income so his wife could purchase another home after his demise, or grow their daughters’ meager dowries, but that was a moot point at this juncture. The damage done was tragic and irreversible for all parties, whether some were aware of the sacrifices made or not.

The master of Pemberley struggled to keep his temper in check and exhaled roughly. “Your father had no right to contemplate such an act of selfish defiance, never mind commit one. He’d no right to condemn you to a fate no sane person would
ever
choose for himself or his family. Forgive me, but if he desired a companion he ought to have bestowed such an honour upon your mother, yet he did not. He forced it upon you instead.”

To his surprise, a wry smile tugged at her lips. “You’ve been in company with my mother on many occasions, sir. As dear as she is to me, the soul of discretion she is not; nor does she practice economy, or exercise restraint of any kind. I fear she’d make a poor vampyre.”

“You can joke about such a thing?” he asked, his tone incredulous.

“I must,” was her matter-of-fact reply, “or else the regret—the knowledge that I'll never have a husband, or children—would consume me. I believe you are well enough acquainted with me to know I wasn’t formed for melancholy. I’ve simply chosen to carry on as though nothing has changed. Trust me when I say it’s far better this way
, for all of us.”

Darcy pursed his lips, furious that she’d had so much taken from her, and all because her father was both foolhardy and self-serving enough to devise and carry out such a damning subterfuge!

As though she’d sensed the bent of his thoughts, Elizabeth placed her hand upon his arm and shook her head sadly. “My father may have chosen this path for himself, but he certainly didn’t choose to make me his image on a whim. You must believe me when I tell you it was out of necessity; nothing more, nothing less.”

“There can be no necessity so urgent as to sentence one’s own child to such a fate,” he replied harshly. “No truly loving parent would ever resort to such an
option
.”

“Mr. Darcy, tell me you would simply do nothing if your daughter lay dying. Tell me, if you had the means to save her—the child you
 cherished most in the world—you would choose differently. After being thrown from my horse three years ago, my injuries were so severe there was no hope for recovery. I was also in great pain, which in turn pained my family.”

For a long moment he regarded her in silence, his eyes taking in every detail of her person, searching for any sign of former injury; but, as with Georgiana, he could see no blemish, could detect no flaw. He lowered his eyes. “Would you have returned the favour last night? Would you have
 acted similarly yourself if the chill of your body failed to drive the fever from my own?”

Elizabeth swallowed thickly and looked away. “We were not speaking of you and I, but of my father and myself.”

“That's true,” he conceded, “but you must understand—by now you must know it’s
you
who I've come to cherish more than any other, yet I cannot imagine making the same choice in such a case without first obtaining your consent.”

“Then it appears we are of one mind,” she
 responded heatedly, “but know this, sir: if I were to ever again find myself faced with the prospect of your imminent death—of poor Miss Darcy being left entirely alone in the world to shift for herself—I would be forced to consider it, and perhaps even act upon it, but only as a last resort. This is not an easy existence, Mr. Darcy, as you and your sister are well aware. Unless your need last night was not most dire, I never would have wanted you to know it.”

He shook his head emphatically. “But I
do
know it. I knew it before through Georgiana, and now, because of you. As you can see, there’s little point in trying to protect me, my dear. It’s far too late for that.”

An affectionate smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he imagined the two women he loved most in the world—Elizabeth and Georgiana—together at Pemberley. The prospect of the two someday becoming sisters pleased Darcy beyond measure, and he was suddenly impatient, not only to give voice
to his fantasy, but to make that fantasy a reality.

“You will do her a world of good, you know. Your friendship, along with your inherent kindness and affectionate nature, will bring Georgiana unparalleled joy.” He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them reverently. “You can offer her so much, Elizabeth, and I have no doubt it will be your guidance and perseverance that will enable
my sister to forge her own path to happiness and contentment. She’ll admire and love you straight away; in time, perhaps even as much as I do.”

Elizabeth tugged her hands from his grasp and rose from the bed. Darcy stared at her, startled and disconcerted by her sudden withdrawal.

“I would be honoured to be a friend to Miss Darcy, sir, as I am honoured to be yours, but to more than that I cannot consent.”

Darcy felt the colour drain from his face.  “I was under the impression that our fellowship had transcended the bonds of mere friendship some time ago. Surely, after everything we confided in each other tonight—after the astounding intimacy we’ve shared—you can be in no doubt of my intentions toward you.”

“Mr. Darcy, pray do not—”

“No, Miss Bennet,” he said thickly. “I must, indeed I must. I love you, most ardently, and I beg you to end my suffering and consent to be my wife.”

Elizabeth shut her eyes tightly and covered her mouth with her hand.

“Elizabeth,” he said gently, and extended his hand to her. “Come here, dear heart.” But Elizabeth remained where she was, silent and still as she struggled to keep her composure.

When she finally found her voice, it was solemn and subdued, rather than emotive and warm, and Darcy’s heart sank as he listened to her say, “As flattered and moved as I am by your declaration, Mr. Darcy, and, despite the fervency of my own feelings regarding the matter, I must ask you to never speak such words to me again. Y
ou
must surely know, dear sir, no matter how much I desire it, that I can never consent to become your wife.”