Chapter Five Fresh Blood in the Drawing Room #4
Later, when Miss Bennet returned to the drawing room, Darcy asked Miss Elizabeth whether she preferred The Italian to The Mysteries of Udolpho.
She accused him of compiling an inventory of her reading.
He informed her that a man required fair warning before discovering which fictional Gothic villain a lady intended to compare him to.
Miss Elizabeth gracefully turned a page. “I had not selected one. You continually provide excellent candidates.”
Darcy leaned closer. “Montoni has poor judgement and even worse estate management.”
Miss Elizabeth smiled. “You object to him professionally, then?”
Darcy smirked. “I object on several grounds, but neglected property is the least forgivable.”
Miss Bingley entered before Miss Elizabeth’s laughter faded and immediately proposed music. Darcy declined, explaining that their discussion had not concluded.
Miss Bingley positioned herself close to him. “It concerns fictional villains. Surely Miss Elizabeth can continue alone.”
Darcy did not look at her. “She has gracefully done so already. I am merely attempting to keep pace.”
Miss Elizabeth found her book very interesting, but colour rose into her cheeks. Darcy sensed the tiny alteration in her pulse and found that the fierce hunger it stirred no longer explained everything moving inside him.
He fed before joining the family each day.
Miss Elizabeth’s impossible scent still reached him, warm and insistent, but the initial appetite subsided under rigid discipline.
What remained could not be attributed to blood.
He anticipated her bright answers before she ever spoke, then discovered that she rarely gave the answer he expected.
Her contradictions delighted him rather than irritated him.
Each time he made her laugh, the gorgeous sound produced a satisfaction separate from the promise of mortality carried in her veins.
By the second afternoon, she had recognised that his strange enquiries served no rational purpose.
They stood near the large window while Miss Bennet and Bingley discussed the gardens. Miss Bingley had attempted to draw Darcy to the card table, but he had escaped by expressing an urgent need to learn whether Mrs Bennet often required smelling salts.
Miss Elizabeth folded her hands. “Your interest in Hertfordshire has become quite detailed, Mr Darcy.”
He looked out of the window. “A polite visitor should understand the local customs.”
“You have enquired about our muddy roads, grounds, books, dull neighbours, and my mother’s nerves.”
He turned to her. “Mrs Bennet introduced them during her visit. They are imprinted in my mind.”
Miss Elizabeth laughed softly. “She introduces them everywhere, but few gentlemen ever respectfully requested further acquaintance.”
“I wished to know whether smelling salts produce any measurable improvement.”
Her eyes sparkled. “They restore her sufficiently to describe the attack, each time, with great precision.”
Darcy nodded. “Then their success appears limited.”
Miss Elizabeth laughed again and pointed a finger at him. “You do not care about my mother’s smelling salts.”
Darcy kept his face straight. “I care whether they work.”
“You are inventing reasons to speak to me.”
Darcy had survived interrogations conducted by angry monarchs, powerful bishops, and ancient master vampires without surrendering any useful information. Miss Elizabeth required one direct sentence.
He spoke to the window pane. “I enjoy our conversations.”
He found himself staring at his boots, a small figurine on the mantelpiece, a piece of lint on the curtain, anywhere but her.
Her amusement softened. For one suspended, perfect moment, neither of them retreated into mockery.
She smiled gently. “I enjoy them too.”
Mr Jones arrived before Darcy could determine what to do with the admission.
The apothecary examined Miss Bennet’s forehead with the back of his hand, and declared her sufficiently recovered to return to Longbourn the very following morning, provided she travelled in a closed carriage and stayed indoors for several long days.
Bingley received the news with a struggle between relief and dismay. He promised to call as soon as propriety allowed and reminded Miss Bennet that she had been granted total authority over the date of the Netherfield ball.
He adjusted the shawl he had no further excuse to touch. “You must not forget. The neighbourhood is depending on you.”
Miss Bennet smiled sweetly. “Then I shall endeavour to recover quickly to prevent disappointment.”
Darcy watched Miss Elizabeth help her recovering sister upstairs to prepare for their early departure on the morrow. By the following morning, both women would be beyond Netherfield’s gates.
Wickham was established in Meryton, gathering admirers and learning the neighbourhood. Bingley, Miss Bingley, and the Hursts had failed to recognise the True Blood because they lacked a true master’s senses and had no reason to search for it.
Wickham lacked their high rank, but he had ambition, cunning, and an instinct for discovering whatever Darcy valued.
Netherfield had kept Miss Elizabeth within Darcy’s protection. Longbourn would place her within Wickham’s reach.