Chapter One
IT TOOK MORE THAN A DAY TO EXPLAIN TO GEORGIANA WHAT HAD occurred.
At first, she did not believe him, but Darcy explained how he had learned of her acquaintance with Wickham—how she had met the pretender one day in a village shop—how she had seen him several times—how she thought him to be a friend to Darcy, for Wickham knew so much of the family history.
Slowly, with his well overdue explanation, Georgiana realized Wickham had played her for a fool.
Wickham’s seduction held no dignity, for he would have provided Georgiana a ghastly corruption.
He promised marriage, and Darcy’s darling sister naively thought Wickham’s words to be an honest proposal.
But a “marriage” to Wickham was not the kind she had envisioned.
It was difficult for Darcy to watch her innocence snatched away, but it was imperative that Georgiana understand the legacy plaguing their family.
The shame she felt at knowing she had succumbed to Wickham’s deception was bad enough, but the truth Darcy later provided of the man’s real intent could not help but to haunt her.
Darcy belatedly secured Georgiana’s safety by reinforcing his sister’s London address with every known amulet.
If others knew to what extreme he had gone in order to ensure her unassailability, they might consider him a case for Bedlam.
Although some would call it lunacy, he chose alchemy to fight treachery.
Georgiana promised to wear her half of the iron double crucifix he had purchased.
Darcy had inlaid it with jewels and placed it on a finely woven chain.
He explained that he would wear the other half, strengthening their connection.
At length he hired Mrs. Lillian Annesley as his sister’s companion.
Along with being well educated, the elderly woman possessed one quality that placed her above all other candidates for the position.
She was a Seer. In fact, she was the reason he had gone to Ramsgate.
He had passed Mrs. Annesley on a street near St. James on a cold, windy afternoon.
Immediately, this stranger called out to him, and Darcy’s good breeding made him stop and listen to her lurid tale.
She warned him of the danger to Georgiana.
It had taken him only a few moments to understand Mrs. Annesley spoke the truth.
He ordered a horse and rode at breakneck speed to the seaside resort.
If not for this chance encounter, Georgiana might now be under George Wickham’s control.
While praying he would never again require Mrs. Annesley’s gift to protect his family, Darcy freely entrusted his sister to the old woman’s matronly care.
He spent the six months following his confrontation with Wickham attempting to locate his enemy, and although he employed various detective agencies to search for a sighting of Wickham, his rival had disappeared into the bowels of London’s underworld.
Darcy held no doubt the scoundrel would resurface eventually, and their confrontation would continue.
He had had enough of his “evil inheritance,” and Darcy meant to see an end to the madness which had ruled generations of Darcys.
After his most recent face-off with Wickham, Darcy reevaluated his plan to bring this malediction to a close.
As a member of the British gentry, with roots also in the nobility, he had inherited his estate and his position in Society from his father.
Through a system of primogeniture, he should pass it on to his heir.
Sadly, he had also inherited a propensity for evil.
Since learning at the age of sixteen of this “quirk” of nature, he had fought against it.
Many of his peers saw him as an eccentric; yet Society was known easily to overlook eccentricity and even depravity among its members, but they would never overlook the truth of his existence.
Society expected Darcy to take a wife, but he held no such plans.
He pretended to desire marriage by attending social functions, appearing to look on the Season’s offerings with a discerning eye.
Yet, his search would never know fruition.
Darcy would have no wife—no children—no love in his old age.
He would simply never marry, permitting his “eccentric” reputation to be the excuse.
Instead, he would make certain that Pemberley thrived.
Without issue, the entailment could be broken, and then he would leave the estate to Georgiana’s heirs.
He would not pass on the unnatural to a child—to his firstborn son.
The curse would end with him, and if God provided him the strength, he would stop the eternal feud by ridding the world of Wickham.
He often claimed his estate kept him from London during the social Seasons.
However, he recognized some social appearances were necessary to keep the tongues from wagging, so in late summer, he joined a university friend, Charles Bingley, at a house party given by the Havershams in Sussex.
During this time, Bingley repeatedly pressed Darcy to assist him in acquiring property.
“I require your counsel, Darcy,” Bingley pleaded.
“Caroline wishes me to take an estate to establish our family. I found one in Hertfordshire, which I let for the year, but I possess no expertise in this area. Please consider joining us. Assist me in determining whether this property is a sound investment. It will be just Caroline, Louisa, my brother Hurst, and the two of us. We will meet my neighbors and have a quiet time.”
Darcy quickly agreed. He could hide away from social obligations for several months without appearing disagreeable.
Hertfordshire was close enough to London that he could make the periodic day trip to oversee his business obligations and to observe Georgiana’s progress under Mrs. Annesley’s care.
Fortunately, Bingley good-humoredly tolerated Darcy’s idiosyncrasies.
The only downfall to the plan was Darcy would be required to maneuver around Miss Caroline Bingley, Bingley’s youngest sister, who thought herself an excellent candidate to be the next Mistress of Pemberley.
Michaelmas, therefore, found him at Netherfield Park.
Over the first few weeks, he and Bingley spent their days riding across the estate, examining the outbuildings, calling upon cottagers, planning renovations and repairs, and enjoying each other’s company.
Darcy cherished these moments of normalcy.
When Bingley and his neighbors returned from hunting, Darcy stood with the other men as they butchered a deer.
Viewing the blood dripping from the carcass, he held tight to the hitching post—knuckles white from the surge of revulsion shooting through him.
He was, after all, what people called a dhampir—had been born a dhampir.
When the blood spread through the dirt, still alive even though the animal was dead, it was all he could do to pretend to be as human as were all the others in the circle watching the event.
The red lode crept closer to his boots, and he stepped back in a show of fastidiousness, but his eyes never left the red mark.
Unconsciously, he licked his lips. Every nerve in his body screamed for action, but Darcy held himself immobile: It was necessary for him to appear to enjoy sport, and so he repeated the required gestures to blend into the group.
“It is a fine kill,” he muttered to one of the older men.
A member of the landed gentry, Mr. Bennet, noticed his paleness. “Are you well, Mr. Darcy?”
“Something I did not eat,” he responded with an ironic smile.
Bingley came to his rescue. “My friend eschews meat.”
“I never knew a man who did not eat meat,” Mr. Bennet remarked in surprise.
Darcy pulled himself up to his full height, knowing it would provide him an advantage.
“We British seem to think a meal is not complete unless we gorge ourselves, but we are a society plagued by gluttony. How many men do you know who suffer from gout? Many civilizations thrive on a cuisine of grains, vegetables, and beans. Yet I am not a total cretin, Mr. Bennet. I am known to eat fish regularly. Since my twentieth year, I have never had a sick day, Sir. I do not know whether my life choice plays into my healthy constitution, but why should I change what works?”
Mr. Bennet stammered, “I would never expect … you to change … Mr. Darcy.”
To emphasize his point and to escape the slaughter, Darcy turned on his heel and left the area after saying curtly, “Good afternoon, gentlemen.”
In truth, Darcy did not go far, just from sight, and so he overheard the conversation that followed his exit.
“He is an unusual man,” Mr. Bennet began his conjecture. “I would not expect you and Mr. Darcy to hold much in common, Bingley.”
“One can never question Darcy’s loyalty or his sense of responsibility.
We all have our peculiarities, and I gladly tolerate Darcy’s, as he tolerates mine.
I hear, Mr. Bennet, that you have the proclivity for taking amusement in your books.
Some might call you reclusive,” Bingley said in casual assessment.
Embarrassment laced Mr. Bennet’s response. “Point taken, Bingley.” Darcy breathed easier, for, once again, Bingley had proven himself a loyal friend.
Elizabeth Bennet placed her Aunt Gardiner’s letter away before staring out the window.
“So the infamous Mr. Darcy is in Hertfordshire and staying with our new Mr. Bingley,” she mused.
“I wonder if what Aunt says of his character will prove true. I suppose I shall soon discover for myself. It should be interesting to observe whether my aunt’s opinions hold merit. ”