Page 57 of Bitten By Mr. Darcy
Jane was still pining over Mr. Bingley, and she had written in her last letter that she was thinking about coming for an extended visit with their aunt and uncle the Gardiners, who also lived in London, but in a decidedly less fashionable part. Janewrote that she could visit her sister and that she might also perhaps call upon the Bingley sisters.
Mr. Darcy had been adamant that they must keep her sister away from Caroline Bingley, and Elizabeth had to agree that seemed prudent. She had broached the topic of her sister coming to stay with them, and Mr. Darcy had said he thought it a bad idea.
It was true that he locked her in with him sometimes, for the entire day, and they usually spend the day in bed, not wearing any clothes, pleasuring each other. In truth, he seemed to have taken this as a substitute for biting her, something that sated him so that he did not need to sink his teeth into her body and drink her blood. But if they had a guest for an extended period of time, they could not engage in this activity.
She had told him that she was lonely when they were separate, and that she could not spend every single day locked in his bedchamber, after all, and that she would like to see her sister.
He had not said no, of course, only that they would discuss it more later.
But that night, after the ball, and after she blamed her distress about the colonel on missing her sister, they did not share a bed and they did not make love.
She woke in her own bedchamber in the morning instead and prepared to face the day.
Around 11:00, Colonel Fitzwilliam himself appeared. She was flustered and blushing as she greeted him in the sitting room, having some biscuits and tea brought up, and trying not to look overmuch at him, especially not wanting to bring out that smirk of his.
“There is no need for any fuss, Mrs. Darcy,” he protested. “I am only dropping off some documents for your husband that he asked me for last night, things that are to do with the Fitzwilliamfamily properties. I do wish you would find out what he wishes them for, though, for I cannot say I entirely trust the man, even now.”
“Oh,” she said, feeling even more embarrassed. “Why did I think you were here to see me?”
“I certainly don’t mind seeing you,” he said, smirking that smirk at her.
Her heart skipped a beat. She hated herself. Why was she drawn to this man?
He consented for her to make up his tea, (two teaspoons of sugar and a splash of milk) and talked to her for a quarter hour about the sounds of the carriages on the street coming in through the windows of her house, whether it bothered her or if she found the sound soothing, as he did. It was a conversation about nothing, and the words weren’t important, but other things were. How often their gazes met, how his body turned toward hers, how she leaned in as he spoke.
Eventually, he said, “What do you see in him?”
She raised her eyebrows. “What?”
“It’s a foolish question, I suppose.” He surveyed his tea. “He is quite wealthy and quite old and quite powerful in his way, and I suppose that is something that women are always drawn to. It is only that you are so very fresh and young and alive, and he is so…” He licked his lips. “He is so very dead, madam.”
She drew in a disapproving breath. “My husband is not dead.”
“I think he is. I think he is an animated corpse who seeks only to devour you.”
“No.” She shook her head. “If he wished that, he has had enough chances. He tries actively not to harm me, though it is not easy for him. I don’t think that at all.”
“But he is taking it all from you, taking your youth and your beauty, and he cannot give you children, and he cannot take youfor a walk in the sunlight, and you are trapped here, all alone, and it seems a waste.”
She didn’t say anything. What was there to say? She craved him, that was the truth of it. She could not say that it was wise or good to be with Mr. Darcy, but she would be miserable without him.
“I apologize,” said the colonel. “It is none of my concern. It is only…” He shook his head. “No, no, I should not say that either. I should take my leave of you madam, and cease to speak of things that I have no right to comment upon.”
“What should you not say?” she said.
He sighed heavily. “Do not press me, I beg you.”
She looked into her own tea cup. “All right,” she said, but her voice betrayed that she was not pleased with it.
He groaned. He set his tea down. “It is only that sometimes it feels to me as if there something here. With us.”
She jerked up her gaze to find his, alarm filling her. She was that obvious?
“If you were so very happy with him, it would be one thing, but—”
“I am happy, though,” she said. At least, she thought she was.
He drank some tea. “All right. You are happy.”
