Regina Jeffers - Vampire Darcy's Desire

Tossing both her cloak and the letter on the bed, Elizabeth poured water into a nearby bowl.Taking the soap from the tray, she began to wash the wound completely. Although the blood had stopped long ago, the feel of his mouth remained. Her eyes inspected the opening, looking for evidence of his perversion, but she saw none—only the cut. She took the handkerchief from her pocket and placed it in the soapy water to soak.

Returning to the bed, Elizabeth picked up the letter, breaking the wax seal with her finger. A page of close handwriting greeted her. The beginning traditionally shared the latest on the antics of her cousins. Elizabeth adored the children; secretly, she wanted a large brood of her own. She had lied to Darcy on that matter. But her aunt did not discuss her children in this letter.The crux of the letter became immediately apparent:

Lizzy, exercise the utmost care regarding Mr. Darcy. He is a powerful man and used to having his own way.There are things I never told you about Vivian’s murder; now that you have thrown yourself into Mr. Darcy’s path, I must share it all with you.

As you are well aware,Vivian was not his only victim.Two others died before her; all three of them worked on the estate. I beggedVivian to give up her position, but her family needed the money, and the Darcys pay well. I suppose it is to keep their secrets.Vivian claimed she could make twice as much at Pemberley as she could anyplace else in Lambton.

I was with her father when he and the others found Vivian’s body. It was a sight I will never forget. She lay in a ditch close to a stream on the estate.A gash the size of my hand opened her neck; the muscles and the tendons holding up her head were ripped to shreds, and her head lolled to the side.The magistrate ruled that a wild dog or a wolf had torn away the neck, but all of us who found her knew otherwise. Her skin was dry and withered. Every ounce of blood in her body was drained. No animal has this power.

Oh, Lizzy, the other girls were reportedly the same way. I spoke to Margaret O’Donnell’s sister. She told me poor Maggie was so mutilated they could not find enough of her to bury her properly. It drove her poor mother to madness.The woman roams the countryside, searching for the missing pieces of her daughter.

Two years ago, I saw Mr. Darcy in the warehouse district. I was there to meet your uncle for supper.The next morning, the papers were filled with the report of a mysterious murder of a female factory worker in that area.Three days later, the report of another murder appeared; a third one came within the week.

Do you not see, Elizabeth, this is no coincidence? Wherever Mr. Darcy is, women turn up dead —their bodies torn and mangled and drained of blood, like something—or someone—sucked it from them.

There is an evil in the Darcy family. I beg you, avoid the man. I could not bear to lose you.

M. G.

Elizabeth reread the letter twice before setting it aside. Hands shaking, she returned to the task of cleaning the handkerchief. It was real, and it belonged to Darcy, the Darcy she spent the past week talking to, riding with, and kissing. It did not belong to the Mr. Darcy her Aunt Meredith described. That man does not exist.

Yet as she scrubbed the blood from the cloth, she felt his mouth on her wound—felt his teeth touching her neck. A shiver ran down her spine. Could he have told her the truth? Could he be a vampire?

What if he did kill those women? Yet it did not make sense. She took the cloth from the water and hung it close to the fire to dry. She traced the embroidered FD with her fingertip. “Fitzwilliam,” she whispered. His name brought her comfort, not repulsion. Now, she would have to see him again, whether he wanted her as part of his life or not; she could not walk away from the mystery.

For two days, Elizabeth heard nothing of and nothing from Mr. Darcy. She fretted and fussed and fumed about Longbourn, much to the annoyance of her family, although none of them knew why she felt out of sorts.

“I know just what you need,” Lydia asserted, barging into her bedroom. “Mr. Denny is on his way, and he is bringing a friend—a handsome friend.”

“Oh, Lydia, tell me you did not do this,” Elizabeth protested.

“Too late.” Lydia twirled around the room. “They just came into the garden. Arrange your hair, Lizzy, and come downstairs. Jane, Kitty, and Mary are already in the drawing room.”

Elizabeth went to the mirror to check her looks.“What makes you think a man can solve what ails me, Lyddie?” However, as she observed her reflection, she could think of one man in particular who could remove her anxiety with just a sideways glance.

“Meeting new gentlemen always cheers me up,” her youngest sister declared, as if it were a given fact for everyone.

“You are our mother’s child,” Elizabeth remarked. “You go on down, dear, with the others, and I will follow momentarily.”

Left alone, Elizabeth fished out Darcy’s handkerchief from a dresser drawer; she placed it in her pocket, where she might touch it. When Elizabeth entered the room, Mr. Denny addressed her directly and entreated permission to introduce his friend, Mr. Wickham, who returned with him the day before from town, and he was happy to say accepted a commission in the corps.This was exactly as it should be; for the young man wanted only regimentals

“From where do you hail, Mr. Wickham?” she asked out of politeness.

Wickham sat beside her on one of the drawing room settees. “Originally, I am from Scotland, Miss Elizabeth, but more recently I lived in Bakewell, as well as in London. I returned eight months ago from a short stay in Kent.”

“Bakewell? In Derbyshire?” she demanded, latching onto the words.

Wickham shifted his weight, as if he would like to change the topic or quit the room.“You know Derbyshire, Miss Elizabeth?”

“Our aunt, Sir, comes from Lambton.” Taking real note of the man at last, somehow she felt she sat next to evil. His smile was too perfect—his manners were too perfect— he was too perfect.

Wickham’s voice changed tenor; suspicion appeared at once. “Outside Pemberley? Do you know the estate?”

“Only by reputation.”

Before the conversation could go further, Lydia and Kitty interrupted. “We wish to walk to Meryton;Aunt Philips invited us all to tea.You will come, too, will you not, Mr. Wickham?” Lydia asked flirtatiously.

“I will happily see you to town, Miss Lydia.” He stood and made a quick bow to her. “I am most anxious to hear of your luck with lottery tickets. I understand from Mr. Denny that you win quite often. Do you have a method you employ?” He took her hand and placed it on his arm as he led Lydia to the entrance hallway.

Needing the exercise and Jane’s company, Elizabeth trailed along—despite her misgivings about the fine-looking stranger. Of late, Jane shared secrets about Mr. Bingley with her; Jane told her everything he had said to her while she recuperated at his house. Elizabeth would like to reciprocate and tell Jane of Mr. Darcy, but

Upon reaching the village, they turned towards their aunt’s house. Luckily, Aunt Philips met them coming from the shops. Introductions were made once again. The introduction was followed upon Mr.Wickham’s side by a happy readiness of conversation—a readiness at the same time perfectly correct and unassuming; and the whole party were still standing and talking together very agreeably, when the sound of horses drew their notice, and Darcy and Bingley were seen riding down the street. Elizabeth’s heart leaped.