Mary Simonsen - Mr. Darcy’s Bite

“We have this argument every single nightfall,” Darcy said in a harsh tone of voice, which did nothing to deter Lizzy.

“Untrue. We have only had this argument for the last three years—since you turned sixty. You are not as young as you used to be. You have arthritis in your hind legs and shoulders and a sore back. When you come through that panel after nightfall, you are practically creaking.”

“If it bothers you, then stop sleeping on the sofa while I am gone.”

“Never!” She went over and put her arms around his neck and kissed the top of his head. “If you ever come through that door, and I am not here, you will know that I have gone to meet my maker.”

“Elizabeth, do not say that. You know I hate when you say things like that.”

“Then show me how much you love me by sleeping in the hidden room.”

“No.”

And so it went, month after month, until a particularly nasty ice storm barreled in from the north, and with every tree and bush encased in ice and icicles hanging from every eave, Lizzy pleaded with him not to go out in such weather. After uttering a few mild oaths, he stormed off and passed his daughter in the hall without saying a word to her.

“Mama, Papa has a raspiness in his chest. I am sure he has pneumonia,” Annie said with tears in her eyes. “There is no way he can hunt tonight, so I do not understand why he must go out. With Uncle Teddy gone, if something happens to him while he is out there,” she said, pointing to the window and beyond, “we will not know it. And by the time we find him, he will be dead.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Lizzy said. The same thoughts had occurred to her, but having it said aloud was more than she could bear. “I agree and I intend to do something about it, so go to bed. Everything is under control.” Lizzy immediately went to her husband’s room.

“While you are out there tonight, you might wish to visit me on the terrace because if you insist on going out in this awful weather that is where I shall be. I can be as stubborn as you are.”

Darcy sat down on the bed and nodded his head in acknowledgment that she had won. He actually had not intended to go any farther than the cave, but he had said nothing to Lizzy or Annie, knowing that if he readily agreed to their scheme, the pair of them would be after him to remain in the house every nightfall, and he hated being cooped up.

“I am henpecked and chickpecked by the two women in my life, and if I am to have any peace, I must do as they ask.”

“Thank you,” she said and hugged him, but he refused to put his arms around her waist, and so she put them there herself. “I shall go and get your water bowl. Do you want any meat?”

“Yes, and a bone as well. Since I will not be hunting for the next two days, I shall have to find ways to kill time. Now won’t I?”

“You know Annie and I will visit you.” Before leaving, she blew him a kiss.

Although she had succeeded in keeping him indoors on this particular nightfall, the time for a permanent solution had come, and so tonight she would implement a plan that she had been thinking about for the last few years. After the entire house was asleep, Lizzy went down to the study. After putting her ear to the hidden door and determining that Will was asleep, she slid back the panel.

“So you snore as badly when a wolf as you do when a man. I suspected as much,” Lizzy said to her sleeping husband. “Look at you. You are dead to the world, but you were going to go out on such a night. What a mule you are.” She spread out a blanket and sat down next to him. After running her hand along the length of his coat, she could hear the change in his breathing as he responded to her touch, and she whispered to him, “‘Entreat me not to leave thee or return from following after thee; for wither thou goest, I shall go.’ I love you, Fitzwilliam Darcy.” She put her finger into his mouth and pressed it against his tooth. After squeezing her finger to make sure that there was blood, she lay down on the blanket and backed into him. As he did when he was in his human form, he rested his front paw on her arm, and they spooned, or as much as a wolf and future wolf are capable of spooning.

During the Darcys’ lifetime, the werewolf population in Great Britain dropped significantly. With the arrival of the Industrial Age, forests and woodlands were being denuded, and there were few safe places for a werewolf to hide. Most chose to emigrate to British North America or to the sparsely populated areas of the upper American Midwest. As a result, incidences of contact between werewolves and humans dropped dramatically in England as well as in Western Europe, and none was recorded in Britain after 1832.

The final entry in the records of the Council was the death in 1856 of the last surviving werewolf living in England. The Council was disbanded the following year, and the Underhill property was deeded over to the National Trust of Scotland, and thus an era where wolves—and werewolves—had roamed the British Isles came to an end.

Without the support of my editor at Sourcebooks, Deb Werksman, my third Austen reimagining would not have become a reality. I would also like to acknowledge my readers on Jane Austen fan fiction sites—where a much rougher version of this story, titled Mr. Darcy and the Eve of All Saints’ Day, first appeared—as well as Tony Grant of the United Kingdom for helping me with the Scottish dialogue. There is also a great group of ladies and one gentleman at www.austenauthors.com who provide support for writers who cannot seem to get enough of Jane Austen.

Mary Lydon Simonsen, the author of Searching for Pemberley, The Perfect Bride for Mr. Darcy, Anne Elliot, A New Beginning, and The Second Date, Love Italian-American Style, has combined her love of history and the novels of Jane Austen in her third story inspired by Pride and Prejudice. The author lives in Arizona. For more information, please visit http://marysimonsenfanfiction.blogspot.com.