Page 14 of Bitten By Mr. Darcy
“What do you remember about last night?”
“Well, nothing,” said Jane. “I slept quite a lot but that must be because I am ill.”
“Ill?” said Elizabeth. “Do you feel ill?”
“Oh, terribly,” said Jane, eating an orange section. “I think I must stay here and recover for several more days.”
“No, Jane, you do not seem ill to me at all, and we must leave this afternoon.”
“Well, I don’t see how we could even do that,” said Jane. “No one else is awake, and we cannot ask them for the carriage.”
“We could walk, of course,” said Elizabeth. “How do you think we got here in the first place last night?”
“Lizzy, this is the second time you have said something strange about last night,” said Jane. “I got here for dinner last night, fell ill, and then you came this morning to see me because you were worried.”
“That… what?” Elizabeth sighed heavily.
“I wouldn’t waste your breath,” came a male voice.
Elizabeth turned to see Mr. Hurst leaning his shoulder into the doorway. He yawned. “Good morning.”
“Good afternoon,” said Elizabeth pointedly.
Mr. Hurst sauntered into the breakfast parlor and helped himself to some kippers. “I wondered about that one. I wondered if she’d be clearer today.”
“Clearer?” said Elizabeth.
“Different people seem to take to the charming more easily than others,” said Hurst, sitting down with them. “She seems to be quite, quite charmable. You? Not so much.”
Elizabeth swallowed. “Oh. So, I shan’t talk her out of it, then?”
“Likely not,” said Mr. Hurst with a shrug. “I’ve been with them years, Miss Elizabeth. I’ve never seen them kill anyone, if that eases your mind.”
“I…” Perhaps it did, but also, it didn’t matter. “You don’t mind it?” she said. “Being there for their nibbling?”
“It’s a bit disconcerting at first, I suppose,” he said with a shrug. “Rather like being some rich man’s kept woman orsomething, perhaps? I don’t mind it, though, really. Louisa is lovely and doting and quite enjoys me, and I can’t say it’s a bad life at all. And I am hers, of course, so the others are not… nibbling on me. Anyway, it’s not anibblingsort of activity. There’s no chewing, you realize. Shedrinksfrom me.”
“Yes, of course,” said Elizabeth, nodding. “And I suppose it’s different when it’s just one of them, isn’t it?”
Hurst pointed at her with his fork. “You likely oughtn’t be alone with him, though, I must say.”
“Because of this siren business.”
“I don’t know anything about it except what I hear them say to each other,” said Mr. Hurst. “I’ve not seen anyone with a sirensong, whatever it is, but they talk about awful things happening to them. Darcy is different than they are, though. He’s better, sort of noble in some odd way. He still has the tie to a family, which is the old way of it, as I understand it.”
“What do you mean?” said Elizabeth.
“Well,” said Mr. Hurst, buttering a slice of toast, “the Bingleys created their identity whole cloth, you see, but what vampires usually do is offer their services as protector to some respectable family or other. They will live as a son or daughter, never the heir, usually not the heir, anyway. They get respectability this way, and they will stand in for threats against the family, offer whatever they can in that respect. It’s been going on for generations. Darcy has been the third in line for the Matlock earldom since time immemorial, as I understand it. Well, maybe a hundred years, anyway.”
“A hundred years?” whispered Elizabeth.
“That’s quite foolish,” said Jane. “One hundred years! What a funny joke, Mr. Hurst.”
“They are very old,” said Mr. Hurst, nodding. “It can be difficult to reckon with that.”
“How old?” said Elizabeth.
“Hundreds of years,” said Mr. Hurst. “A thousand, perhaps. More, even? I don’t really know. It’s rude to inquire overmuch about one’s lady wife’s age, is it not?” He grinned an insouciant little grin.
