Page 37 of Bitten By Mr. Darcy
But he couldn’t let her marry that man.
He turned down an alleyway, seeking a tavern where he’d been feeding lately. He had only fed on men since leaving Elizabeth, not wanting her to feel any kind of jealousy, even though he supposed he’d had his experimentations with men,long ago. The business about being turned by a Roman soldier hadn’t come about because he’d not allowed that man certain, erm, liberties, after all. But even then, as a human, he had not been the sort who preferred men to women, as he had always liked them both the same, and now, he was never roused by men at all. Of course, he would have said, before Elizabeth, he wasn’t roused by women either.
The point was, he wanted feeding to be about blood and nothing more. He did not wish her to have to endure anything through the bond that would be too painful for her.
His way was to find some man stumbling out of a tavern, drunk, strike up a conversation with him, walk a ways, get the man to look into his eyes and then charm him to accept a bite and to forget it had ever happened.
He did the same thing that night, feeding briefly, and then he went home.
He wished to go to her now.
He knew he could not.
He could likely ride on horseback to Meryton before sunrise, he thought, but he would have nowhere to stay if he did so. He could go to Netherfield, if he asked Bingley for permission—Bingley would likely grant it. But then Caroline would know of it, and that would mean her jealousy was renewed.
He should like somewhere else entirely to stay, and that would prove difficult. He would need to make all manner of plans. An inn might do if he brought the right things to cover the windows, but innkeepers were often nosy about things of that nature, and they often asked too many questions about people who kept to their beds all day and were awake all night.
An inn was a great deal of trouble.
Could he somehow entreat Bingley to keep it from Caroline?
Ah, he could, and Bingley might even agree, but he would probably end up telling her, anyway. Bingley was badly gone forCaroline, truly, even though she treated him with disdain much of the time. She was only good to Bingley when she wanted something from him. Darcy had watched the dynamic between them for too long.
He could simply arrive at the house and demand to be seen to, and the servants would see to him.
However, they would send word to their master.
Unless he went armed with a great deal of gold, he supposed. He could likely pay them to stay quiet and keep his presence there concealed.
But by this time, he had been thinking on it for too long, going back and forth, and it was too late to set off. He would, however, leave immediately tomorrow night, and he set about telling his staff to make accommodations for him.
He had one moment to think it over, to wonder if he were doing the wrong thing, but then he did not care anymore. He knew, deep down, he’d been waiting for any excuse to go to her.
ELIZABETH HAD BEENengaged for nearly a month now.
Mr. Collins had asked if she minded if they simply went through with it as soon as the banns could be read, because he had already come to visit here, and he said it would be so much less trouble than a long courtship with his traveling back and forth from Kent for an extended period.
Less trouble for him, she supposed, but she agreed to it, not having any reason to delay, not truly.
Though she was about to be married, there was not much cheer in the household. Jane had been seemingly crushed by the disappearance of Mr. Bingley, and now she seemed a bit confused as to why Mr. Collins had skipped over her to Elizabeth. Elizabeth tried to explain that it must have been their mother’s doing, but Jane said that no, it was Elizabeth herself,that men wanted her in a way that men did not want Jane. She cited the difference between Mr. Darcy’s affections and Mr. Bingley’s as proof. “Mr. Darcy was ever so enamored with you.”
“He was not,” Elizabeth said tartly. “Because he left, just as your Mr. Bingley did.”
But anyway, it was probably true that they were both well shut of those fiends. Elizabeth tried to tell herself this, anyway, but she had a difficult time feeling as if anything could possibly be good at all. Perhaps she was better off without Mr. Darcy, but why did being better off feel so numb and blank in the way that it did?
Nothing mattered anymore.
Mrs. Bennet assured Jane that someone else would fall in love with her, that she was a winsome and pretty girl who turned heads. But Jane seemed listless in the wake of it all, and Elizabeth did not think that Jane was the same as she had been before the vampires. Somehow, when she was charmed, she never quite recovered, and Elizabeth did not know what it was.
However, she was much the same, she supposed.
They were both pining for something, an unearthly something, a dark and dangerous something, and now regular life was simply not enough.
She saw Mr. Wickham once or twice when she walked into town with her sisters, but he did not speak to her. He was engaged with Lydia and the others, who were chattering gaily, and Elizabeth had little to say these days.
Whatever curiosity she’d had about Mr. Wickham, it seemed to have been doused along with everything else within her. She could not muster the energy to put questions to him or to study his reactions.
The one time they did speak, he only said, in a low voice, it was a good thing that the vampires had gone, and she inclined her head as if she agreed.
