Epilogue A Mortal Appetite #3
Mrs Hurst rested her head briefly against Mr Hurst’s shoulder. “Do you remember food?”
“Vaguely. I do not remember making such a spectacle of it,” he said.
“You were born a gentleman,” Mr Bingley reminded him.
Darcy selected a ninth muffin, but Elizabeth caught his wrist. “Enough, husband.”
He glanced at the basket, then at her hand around his newly warm skin. “But...” Darcy considered, then returned it with visible reluctance. “Mortality has acquired restrictions very quickly.”
Mr Bennet entered the vestry and took Darcy’s free wrist. He counted silently, his fingers resting over the pulse.
“Much improved. Yesterday I could have completed a chapter between beats.”
Darcy regarded him. “Is it normal?”
“It is quite rapid,” Mr Bennet said.
“Perhaps because I have undergone a transformation,” he suggested.
“You have eaten eight muffins, son.”
Jane returned to Elizabeth and examined the linen around her right palm. Only one drop had entered the bowl, but the shallow cut continued to stain the cloth. Jane cleaned it with water from the vestry basin, applied fresh linen, and bound it securely.
Darcy’s gaze fixed on the red mark.
His body did not harden. His pupils did not widen, and no hunger sharpened his face. Concern replaced every trace of the predator Elizabeth had learned to recognise.
“Does the blood trouble you?” She extended her hand.
“Only because it ought to remain inside you.” He took it carefully and pressed his lips against the bandage, his mouth warm.
The transformation became real then, not in the light, the rapid heartbeat, or the missing muffins, but in that first warm kiss against her hand.
Mr Collins retrieved the paper from under a pew and returned to the pulpit. “The binding has been completed. Before the laws governing Mr Darcy’s former kind, you are husband and wife.”
Elizabeth glanced at Darcy. “You had better not change your mind now.”
“I lost that choice when you entered Netherfield carrying mud on your petticoat.”
Fletcher lifted the punch bowl from its table. Most of the inscription had faded, though it was warm and Darcy’s reflection still occupied its curved surface. When he carried it to the vestry, it rolled in his hands and stretched towards Elizabeth.
“You must remain hidden until the guests leave,” Elizabeth instructed it. “My mother will endure enough excitement for one day without your help.”
The bowl settled reluctantly against Fletcher’s coat.
“Thank you, madam.” Fletcher paused, hearing the form of address he had used. His eyes moved from Elizabeth to Darcy. “Mrs Darcy.”
The name entered the chapel more quietly than the prophecy had done, yet Elizabeth felt its force in every part of her.
Darcy smiled. His whole face changed again, no longer constrained by control or the fear that happiness must be purchased through her destruction.
Carriage wheels sounded beyond the chapel walls.
Charlotte peered through the coloured glass of the nearest window. “The first guests are arriving.”
The secret gathering broke apart at once.
Fletcher carried the bowl and knife into the vestry, where he concealed them inside a locked chest. Mr Hurst and Mrs Hurst sat in the front pew.
Miss Bingley straightened the pulpit cloth and removed every sign that an older law had been invoked there.
Mr Bingley adjusted Darcy’s cravat, then brushed crumbs from his coat until Fletcher returned and displaced him on professional grounds.
Jane examined Elizabeth’s gown for blood. The cream silk was unmarked. Her bandaged right palm could be hidden by her glove, while her left hand was free for the wedding ring.
Mr Bennet opened the chapel door to admit Sir William and Lady Lucas, who had arrived early because Sir William believed punctuality at distinguished ceremonies demonstrated courtly breeding. Cold air entered with them, touching Darcy’s uncovered face.
He did not retreat. He stood in the open doorway and drew a long breath of winter.
Elizabeth watched the air cloud before him. He watched it too, fascinated by evidence which every other person in England spent their lifetime ignoring.
More carriages approached along the lane. Voices gathered outside, wheels crunched upon the frost, and servants began directing guests. The chapel filled gradually, no one suspecting that the bride and groom had already been married under a law older than the church around them.
Mrs Bennet’s carriage arrived last among the family vehicles, though she had intended to precede everyone.
The door opened before the horses had fully stopped.
She walked with Kitty, Lydia, and Mary behind her, surveyed the candles, the greenery, the assembled guests, and Elizabeth’s completed wedding attire.
Then her eyes reached Darcy.
He stood at the front of the pulpit while Fletcher made one final attempt to remove the evidence of his appetite. Several crumbs were stubbornly embedded in the embroidery of his waistcoat.
Mrs Bennet advanced down the aisle in rising alarm.
“Mr Darcy, why are you covered in muffins?”
The End