Mary Simonsen - Mr. Darcy’s Bite

Lizzy closed her eyes and, in a moment, all that had happened to bring them to this day flashed before her. Their rough beginning at the Meryton assembly, his inept attempts to make amends, his offensive proposal, his kindness in rescuing Lydia, their reconciliation, and his many visits to Longbourn. When in Hertfordshire, it was obvious how much he had wanted to ask her to be his wife, but then he had revealed the reason he had not proposed—that awful secret that would eventually be the cause of their parting. Lizzy lifted up her head in an attempt to keep her tears from spilling over, but it was impossible to hold back so much sorrow. When she looked at Mr. Darcy, he had crept closer to her, and she slid off the chair so that she was sitting next to him.

She ran her hand over his magnificent coat. It was as black as ebony, thick and curly—just like his hair, and he responded with a quick lick on her hand, but no more because, after all, it was a mere scratch that had turned him into a werewolf. Lizzy covered her mouth to keep from sobbing openly.

“If you wanted, how easily you could have your way. All it would take would be the tiniest scratch, and I would be a she wolf and would become a part of your world. But you will not do it because you truly love me.” She buried her head in his coat. “Oh, Mr. Darcy, what are we to do?”

An exhausted Lizzy had fallen asleep next to Mr. Darcy, and she would have remained there if not for the cold nose on her cheek, and then there was a repeat of the pushing she had experienced the previous night. Even if she had possessed the energy to resist, she would have yielded because he would not have stopped his poking and prodding until she had done exactly what he wanted, and because of her fatigue, she was willing to take orders from the alpha male.

Once inside, she watched as the lone wolf made his way back to the woods, walking slowly, with as little energy as she had shown. But when he was within ten yards of the edge of the wooded area, Nell came running out to meet her friend and that caused him to pick up his pace, and Lizzy felt better because of it.

When she got to the top of the staircase, she was met by Mercer, Mr. Darcy’s faithful manservant. They had become acquainted during the many months that his master had been calling on her at Longbourn. As a former post coach driver, he had wonderful stories about all the goings-on at the roadside inns, and many of the tales were about his sweethearts at the different stops along the Derby to London route. But tonight the twinkle in his eye was absent. Believing that his master’s heart would be broken with the dawn, his face was drawn and tired.

“You should be in bed, Mr. Mercer. It must be at least three or four o’clock in the morning.”

“It is four forty-five, miss. But the master asked me to stay close in case you needed anything. Since I knew you were outside on the terrace, I was just waiting for you to come in.”

“Did you, by chance, see what happened out there?”

“Yes, miss. If I may be permitted to say so, it was a very tender scene.”

Fearing that she might start tearing up again, she made no response. “What time is sunrise tomorrow, Mr. Mercer?” She knew that he would know the exact time right down to the minute, so that he would be ready for the return of his master.

“Six fifty-four. The days are getting shorter. After all, it’s November 1st, the feast of All Saints’ Day. May I inquire why you need to know that, miss?”

“Because I have made my decision. I have decided not to decide.” When she saw Mercer’s confusion, she continued, “What I mean is that I will let matters run their natural course.”

This intelligence seemed to be viewed as good news by Mercer because a bit of a sparkle appeared in his eyes. He understood that Miss Elizabeth had very nearly been devastated when she had learned of Mr. Darcy’s other life, and he was rightly concerned for her welfare. His master’s orders had been that she was not to be by herself at any time other than when she was in her bedchamber, and because of those orders, Mercer had been a witness to the scene on the terrace. If ever there were two people in love, it was his master and Miss Elizabeth. It would be such a shame if something as inconsequential as a transformation that lasted all of two days each month kept them apart.

“Mr. Mercer, considering the circumstances, I am going to forego the usual conventions of propriety.” She took a deep breath and asked, “Is it possible to arrange for a bath?”

“Yes, miss. In fact, one is already prepared for the master. All I need to do is add some hot water. I will go get Mrs. Brotherton?”

Mrs. Brotherton was Georgiana’s lady’s maid, a kind and thoughtful lady, who had replaced the conniving Mrs. Younge, George Wickham’s accomplice in his attempted elopement. Without being overbearing, she provided her mistress with the sound advice necessary for someone who was about to step into the public arena that was London society, and Georgiana loved her dearly.

“But won’t that raise questions with Mrs. Brotherton about why I need a bath at this hour?”

“No, miss. Her son is a werewolf. He’s one of the grooms who works in the stables. That’s how she came to be here. She met Mr. Darcy at a gathering in Scotland, and Miss Darcy was in need of a new lady’s maid because the last one got booted, and rightly so.”

“What if someone should see me coming out of Mr. Darcy’s bedroom? What would they think?”

“That’s not possible. No junior servants are allowed on this floor after the family has retired. If they even tried it, they’d be sent packing without a character and that would make it near impossible to get another job in service.”

Lizzy nodded in understanding. Everything that happened at Pemberley was well thought out because any error might expose Mr. Darcy. Even though he was highly regarded by all his neighbors and tenants, no one could anticipate what another’s response would be to the revelation that he was a werewolf, especially considering the horrible stories that were told about them, including ones in which they attacked humans on sight and ate recently buried corpses. According to Anne, werewolves did everything they could to avoid humans and ate only freshly or recently killed meat.

When Lizzy entered Mr. Darcy’s room, she saw that Mrs. Brotherton was waiting for her and that she had brought with her everything necessary to bathe a lady. She had little time to look around the room, but what little she did see of the furnishings, she liked, including the largest bed she had ever seen. Would she ever sleep in that bed, she wondered?

Since both ladies had something in common—they both knew a werewolf—the two had a nice chat while Lizzy was bathing and having her hair washed. Knowing that there was no such thing as a “happy” werewolf story, Lizzy still found Mrs. Brotherton’s son’s narrative to be particularly sad.

Teddy had been serving as a groom in the London townhouse of a wealthy merchant, who had decided to sell his business so that he might live the life of a country gentleman, and this man, so new to the gentry, decided that those of the genteel class traveled. Since Napoleon’s armies prevented him from going abroad, they went north to Scotland. While in the Highlands, the carriage stopped so that everyone could get out and stretch their legs and respond to calls of Nature.

“Quite suddenly, a wolf came out from behind a boulder,” Mrs. Brotherton explained, “and was running right at Teddy’s master, so Teddy jumped in front of the wolf to protect him and fought him off with a whip, but not before he was bitten on the hand. It took about three months for the transformation to happen, but when it did, even though my son had saved his life, his master kicked him out the house. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Darcy, I do not know what we would have done.”

Lizzy tried to reconcile all that she knew about Mr. Darcy with her first impression of him. To his family, he was beyond reproach, his servants and neighbors held him in the highest regard, and he had provided employment and a home for Teddy and his mother.

To all who know him, he walks on water, so why was he so rude to me? Lizzy asked herself. According to the master of Pemberley, I was not handsome enough to tempt him to dance, I willfully misunderstood him, and I was guilty of the sin of pride in rejecting him. But now I come to Pemberley and find that he is regarded as St. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire, patron saint of werewolves.

Trying to dry Lizzy’s thick curls was a fool’s errand, and she said so to Mrs. Brotherton. Since there wasn’t enough time left before dawn to get the damp out of her hair, she pulled her curls back and hoped that her tresses would not break free of the ribbon.

Then she thought: where should she meet him? After pondering the possibilities for several minutes, she remembered Anne saying that there was a secret room behind the study where her cousin would stay during the most inclement weather. It would make sense for such a room to have an outside entrance so that Mr. Darcy might return to the house without being seen. In that way, he could enter the house while still in his wolf form, dress, and emerge unseen through his study.

Lizzy let out a huge sigh. She was getting all prettied up in order to meet a man who had just spent two days in the wild running through woods and thickets and would probably have twigs stuck in his hair. Even if this was meant to be, it was still going to take some getting used to.

Because Lizzy had chosen an everyday dress that buttoned in the front, she thanked Mrs. Brotherton for her help and dismissed her, as she had no further need of her services. After a few dabs of rose water, she took one last look in the mirror and went in search of Mercer.