Regina Jeffers: Vampire Darcy's Desire

“Oh, you are blind, Lord Thomas!” she said.

“Or can’t you very well see?

Oh, can’t you see my own heart’s blood

As it trickles down on thee?”

He took the Brown Girl by the hand

And led her across the hall.

He took off his sword and cut off her head

And threw it against the wall.

“Oh, Mother, oh, Mother, go dig my grave;

Go dig it both wide and deep,

And place Fair Ellender in my arms

And the Brown Girl at my feet.”

He placed his sword against the wall

The point against his breast,

Saying,“This is the end of three poor lovers

God take us all to rest.”

They buried Ellender in the old churchyard;

They buried Lord Thomas beside her.

Out of his grave grew a red, red rose,

And out of hers a briar.

They grew and grew up the old church wall

Till they could grow no higher,

And at the top twined a lover’s knot

The red rose and the briar. 1

“Miss Elizabeth,” Sir William cried, “you clearly brought me to tears. Such a song!”

Elizabeth dropped her eyes, looking away demurely.“I apologize, Sir William. I did not mean to place a cold sheet on your festivities.”

“Really, Miss Elizabeth, it was worth the silence to hear one of the traditional ballads done so well; so few people these days remember them.”

Darcy stood near, praying for another topic of conversation. Engrossed in his thoughts, he took little note of Mary Bennet succeeding Elizabeth at the pianoforte, nor did he approve of her younger sisters’ demand that Mary perform Scottish and Irish airs instead of a concerto. Bingley joined the group of dancers, along with several of the officers; yet Darcy still did not move—he could not—would not.

When Sir William stepped up beside him and engaged in conversation, Darcy wanted no part of the man. He wanted only to retreat to his room and sort out the chaos. He wanted to go home to Pemberley or even to Overton House, but the vast emptiness of How could the man expect him to maintain such an asinine conversation when he just lost his soul—hexed by the truth of her words? Moments ticked breathlessly away while Darcy remained silently reserved until Elizabeth came into view again, and despite wanting to throttle her—wanting to run away from her—wanting to question what she knew of him—his body betrayed him, and Darcy hungrily devoured her with his eyes.

Sir William summoned her, and Darcy silently moaned in despair. He needed to be somewhere else, somewhere far away from her. “My dear Miss Eliza, why are you not dancing?—Mr. Darcy, you must allow me to present this young lady to you as a very desirable partner.You cannot refuse to dance, I am sure, when so much beauty is before you.”

If Darcy had bothered to look, he would have, obviously, seen that Elizabeth was as miserable as he. She protested immediately, taking a steadying breath. How could she let Darcy know she could not forget the look on his face as she sang? At first, she thought him critical again, but now she was certain she had hurt him somehow. Suddenly, everything she thought about him turned upside down. “Indeed, Sir, I have not the least intention of dancing.”

Her voice brought him back to reality, and although he still held the dread of her knowing a secret he swore to take to his grave, Elizabeth’s presence—her proximity—forced him to react. Unsettled by his spiraling desire, Darcy forgot his previous trepidation; he wanted to dance with her—like a moth compelled to follow the flame, he felt a need to be near her.“Miss Elizabeth, may I have the honor of this dance?” He offered her a proper bow.

“I appreciate your gallantry, Mr. Darcy, but without meaning offense, I will decline.” Instinctively, she knew she could not risk touching him—taking his hand. Elizabeth was not sure if she wanted to know of more Mr. Darcy.

She walked away, but the spell Elizabeth cast on him remained: She was an enigma—one he desperately wanted to solve.The fact that she did not set designs on him went a long way in holding must know more of the woman.

Caroline Bingley suddenly appeared in his path. He had managed to avoid her for several days. Smiling, Miss Bingley placated his every thought. “You are considering how insupportable it would be to pass many evenings in this manner—in such society, and indeed I am quite of your opinion. I was never more annoyed! The insipidity and yet the noise—the nothingness—and yet the self-importance of all these people!—What would I give to hear your strictures on them!”

Darcy knew how to send her away. “Your conjecture is totally wrong, I assure you. My mind was more agreeably engaged. I meditated on the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow.”

“Who might credit such inspiration?” she cried coquettishly.

“Miss Elizabeth Bennet.” He smiled as he said her name.

Caroline took immediate offense, but Darcy was unmoved by the wound he had dealt to her vanity. Only his Elizabeth brought forth any interest.

When she walked away, Elizabeth felt Darcy’s eyes burning her back. She thought she recognized his interest. Where a few hours ago she might have thought him critical, she now believed he watched for another reason, and she took delight in his attention. She could almost smell his desire. She had never expected this turn of events. Or was it as she thought? Did she imagine what she hoped she saw or did she truly affect him? She tilted her chin determinedly. If he was besotted, she would use his interest for her own purposes—and soon.

A week later, Darcy and Bingley returned home from a pleasant evening with the militia officers to find Jane Bennet unwell and staying at Netherfield. She had joined Bingley’s sisters for dinner and taken ill, the result of becoming soaked in a rainstorm. Bingley loved the idea, although his sisters felt put upon.

Darcy found Mrs. Bennet’s maneuverings mildly amusing. She, obviously, had set it up for her eldest daughter to be overcome and be at Bingley’s mercy.They were, of course, chaperoned by his sisters. What a perfect way to snare a husband, he thought. Perhaps the woman should write a manual for young unmarried ladies.

When there was nothing for him to do, Darcy left the Bingleys to tend to their patient and headed to bed. As he undressed, an errant thought occurred to him. If Jane Bennet were to remain at Netherfield for several days, Elizabeth Bennet would join her. He audibly moaned; he and Elizabeth would be in the same house. On the one hand, the thought excited him.And on the other, it threatened his sanity. Darcy had not recovered from their most recent encounter. He had wanted so much to dance with her—to hold her in his arms; and he wanted to stop her singing by kissing her sweet lips—her ears—her neck. Every time he thought of it, he imagined Elizabeth at the pianoforte singing his song and then standing slowly and walking into his embrace.They would cling to each other—tongues dueling—silencing his words and even his thoughts. It was one of his favorite dreams of late. Now they could create new dreams, he and Elizabeth. Despite his resolve not to marry, Darcy could not help himself when it came to Elizabeth Bennet.Whether he admitted it aloud or not, she possessed part of his soul. He would battle his demons some other way.

Elizabeth looked at the note from her sister. Jane, lovely and gullible, needed her. Ironically, though, her sister’s sudden illness played to her plan. Jane was at Netherfield and so was Fitzwilliam Darcy. How fortunate an occasion! She could watch him more closely without bringing undue attention to herself. “I cannot bear to think Jane alone and unwell; I must go to her,” she told her parents.