Mary Simonsen - Mr. Darcy’s Bite

“Everything is ready for you in the study, miss. Mr. Jackson has a good fire going, and I have lit some candles so you won’t bump into the furniture. I should warn you that as soon as Mr. Darcy sees the light, he will be on his guard, fearing discovery, so you should immediately make your presence known and identify yourself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Mercer. I understand, and I shall do as you advise. But did you say that Mr. Jackson made the fire?”

“Yes. The joke belowstairs is that he is the Jackson of all trades,” Mercer said, chuckling. “He started here at Pemberley when he was a mere lad, hauling coal and lugging water up the stairs for Mr. Darcy’s father, and there ain’t nothing he can’t do.”

“And he is as faithful a servant to the son as he was to the father, and as for you, Mr. Mercer, Mr. Darcy could not be better served by any man in the kingdom.”

Mercer acknowledged the compliment with a nod. “Miss Elizabeth, I’m forty years old, and I’ve met more than my share of people. I know paupers who are princes, and nobles who I wouldn’t walk across the street to help if they fell on their rumps. I know quality when I see it, and it has nothing to do with the houses they live in or the carriages they drive around in town. Mr. Darcy is one of the most decent people I know, and I’m not going to let a little thing like canine teeth keep me from serving him.”

Lizzy smiled at Mr. Mercer, who rarely failed to amuse. “How did you meet Mr. Darcy?”

“It was five years ago, and we sought shelter at a coaching inn during a snowstorm. Now, a man of Mr. Darcy’s standing could have had a room all his own ’cause he had the coin to pay for it. Instead, he huddled up in a corner and slept on the floor so that the women and their children could have his room. As the night wore on, we got to talking. I said how I was tired of driving the mail coach, and he said he was looking for a manservant ’cause his man had taken ill and wasn’t up to the job anymore.

“I knew there was something different right from the beginning, but I just kept doing my job. And over time, I came to admire him, and then to… Damn! I’m tearing up,” he said, wiping his eyes with his sleeve. “I came to love him like a… like he was one of my kin. And then one night he sat me down, and we had the talk, and I told him it didn’t make one bit of difference to me. I knew that the man inside was a good man and that’s all I needed to know. That’s the way it’s been ever since.”

“Mr. Mercer, I do not know what is going to happen tonight,” Lizzy said, placing her hand on his arm. “I really don’t. So I am going to ask your forgiveness if it does not work out the way you had hoped it would.”

“There will be no need of forgiveness because I’ve seen how you looked at him out there,” he said, pointing in the direction of the terrace. “You looked past that wolf exterior and saw the man inside, just like I did. My advice to you is to keep an open mind, and if you do that, you’ll open your heart as well.”

Looking around the study, Lizzy understood why this room would be a sanctuary for Mr. Darcy. In the corner, there were French wines and fine Madeiras next to a crystal brandy decanter and snifter glasses. Despite the wars raging on the Continent, Mr. Darcy had somehow managed to procure wine and brandy from France, or, more likely, Mercer knew someone who had bought the banned spirits from smugglers slipping into the numerous coves on the Channel coast.

Next to the sofa, there was a table reserved for The Times of London as well as some French newspapers. Another table had a stack of newspapers published by Cambridge University, his alma mater, and she wondered how he had managed to attend university without someone taking notice of his disappearances. She knew that he often attended cricket matches, but surely it was not possible for him to have been a regular player on the Cambridge team or someone would have noticed his fur coat.

That is not funny, Lizzy, she thought, chiding herself.

She then walked over to examine the jewel in the crown of Mr. Darcy’s study: his book collection. One whole wall was floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and after picking up a candle, Lizzy scanned the titles. The collection included the complete works of Shakespeare, the Iliad and the Odyssey, Isaac Newton’s Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica, bound copies of Poor Richard’s Almanacs, and the collected works of Cicero and Ovid. Sharing the shelf with the work of poets from Pindar to Cowper was the fiction of Sterne, Defoe, Richardson, and Fielding. One of Fielding’s titles, An Apology for the Life of Mrs. Shamela Andrews, was unfamiliar to her.

Taking the first volume out of the case, Lizzy inquired of the absent Mr. Darcy, “Perhaps I could borrow this book when you are busy doing other things?” Lizzy started giggling. Her silliness was a result of nerves, fatigue, and fear of the unknown. What could she possibly say to a man returning to hearth and home after spending two nights in the woods as a werewolf?

“Maybe a glass of sherry would help to steady me.” She was reaching for the bottle when she heard a noise on the far side of the room. There was a sliding sound and then another, and Mr. Darcy stepped out of the shadows. He was barefoot, his hair unkempt and his shirt open to his waist. In other words, he was magnificent.

As soon as he saw the fire and candles, he froze, and Lizzy froze as well. His eyes darted back and forth, scanning the room, and her heart went into her throat. She barely managed to croak out, “Mr. Darcy, it is Elizabeth.” But rather than her voice reassuring him that he was in no danger, her presence seemed to displease him, and he told her to come into the light.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in an emotionless voice that contrasted sharply with the fire in his eyes.

“I am very sorry, sir. I have made a mistake.” She started to walk backwards away from him, but before she could reach the door, he grabbed her roughly by her arm. Now she was truly frightened. “I want to go,” she said, and after seeing the fear in her face, he released her.

“Please do not go. I did not mean to hurt you. It is just that it takes some time to stop being one thing and to start being another. I usually have a brandy and wait for a half hour or more before I go upstairs to bathe.”

“Shall I get you a brandy before I leave?” This had been a terrible idea, she thought, as she tried to calm her racing heart. She had no idea what was involved in his transformation from wolf to human. Maybe it was exhausting or painful. Why hadn’t Mercer warned her? Probably, because he did not know. He would rightly have waited for his master to come to him.

“Thank you, but I will have a brandy later. Right now, I would prefer to talk to you.” He gestured for her to sit down, but she shook her head no. Understanding her nervousness, he tried to calm her. “You look very pretty. I don’t think I have seen that frock before.”

“It is just an everyday dress—not something that your sister would ever wear,” she answered while trying not to act frightened.

“Regardless, you still look pretty in it.” He looked at her sideways and stepped closer to her. “Your hair is wet.”

“Yes, I took a bath. What I mean is, I took your bath—the one Mercer had prepared for you.”

“Well, that is a pleasant image.” Darcy could hear her take in a gulp of air. “In this flickering light, I cannot be completely sure, but I believe you are blushing.”

Every inch of Lizzy was blushing. Why had she told him that she had taken a bath in his tub in his room? Not knowing how to respond, she answered, “You smell like mint.”

After he stopped laughing, he explained that he always ate mint before he returned to the house, but he did not mention the reason. It was to cover up any lingering odor from a kill. But that was not the case tonight, as his anxiety about Elizabeth had resulted in a loss of appetite, and even when Nell had offered him some of her rabbit, he had declined.

“So you look pretty, and I smell nice. Now, what shall we talk about?”

Lizzy bit her lip. What should she say? “On the terrace, we said that we needed to talk,” she answered, looking away from him toward the fire. “Perhaps later today.”

“Your memory is faulty, Elizabeth,” he answered, refusing to follow her gaze. He would not be distracted. “You placed your head on the back of my neck and said, ‘Mr. Darcy, what are we to do?’ Not ‘you’ and not ‘I,’ but ‘we.’ So now I ask you, can you accept me for who and what I am?” Then he hesitated. “But, perhaps I already know the answer. There was no candle in the window last night, and I know that because when I was not with you, I kept that window in my view from dusk until dawn.”

That statement sounded very much like an accusation, and if it was, he was being unfair. How could she possibly have signaled him that all was well when it was not?

“I still do not understand. Why me? When we first met, you found me so unappealing that you could barely tolerate my company.”

“Quite the contrary,” he answered, shaking his head. “I was completely taken in by you and your impertinence, and it was because of my attraction to you that I pushed you away. I did not want to fall in love and risk being turned down when you found out about my altered state. I had imagined so many times how you would look at me when you found out, and, yesterday, I saw it for myself. You were repulsed, and I cannot blame you. But you must remember that I did not choose this way of life. It is a hand I have been dealt, and I do the best I can under the circumstances.”