Mr. Darcy, Vampire
Chapter Two:
Once he had gained entrance to the Parsonage, Darcy allowed himself the briefest of moments to enjoy being out of the sun. He had only been infected with vampirism a few short years and already he was starting to feel the heavy lethargy that came with prolonged exposure to direct sunlight.
No! Not yet!
He had hoped for at least a decade or two before his affliction drove him into the darkness but it seemed it was not to be. At this rate, he would likely be forced to give up the sun before his fortieth birthday.
And this is the life you would have Elizabeth live?
Darcy shoved the thought aside and strode into the drawing room before his conscious had time to talk him out of proposing to Miss Bennet. That lady exhibited a certain degree of surprise at seeing him. It seemed that she had been expecting someone else.
Jealousy erupted in his chest like a fire that threatened to consume him. Was she awaiting another man? Another suitor, perhaps? Darcy struggled to control the rage that overcame him at the thought of Elizabeth with another man.
Attempting, rather unsuccessfully, to reign his temper, Darcy reminded himself that, despite the possessiveness he felt toward her, he had no claim over Elizabeth. Yet. Another few moments could see that change.
He hurriedly made his apologies for disturbing her to cover the awkward silence that stretched between them. Elizabeth seemed in no hurry to fill the silence herself, he noted. Indeed, when she did reply to his inquiries about her health and the health of her family, it was in a cool, clipped tone. Her manner was, in fact, almost impolite.
Having been so intent on mastering his own emotions, Darcy had failed to note the heightened state of Miss Bennet's. The lady was clearly agitated; she appeared to be struggling with some inner thought or emotion that made her restless. There were spots of colour on her cheeks and her eyes were swollen and red. He suspected that she had recently been crying.
Darcy briefly considered whether his presence could be the cause of Miss Bennet's agitation but speedily dismissed the idea. Why should his presence affect her so? He did wonder, however, if perhaps now was not the best time to press his suit. After some deliberation, Darcy decided – rather selfishly, he admitted – that it simply could not wait. Anticipation would eat him alive if he did not ask Miss Elizabeth Bennet for her hand. Immediately.
Eternal life, it seemed, had not graced Darcy with an abundance of patience.
Surprising both Elizabeth and himself, he came forward and, taking both her hands in his, spoke earnestly of his feelings.
"In vain I have struggled," he told her. "It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."
He went on to make her an offer of marriage which, though less than eloquent, was most ardent. Then he waited.
Miss Bennet's reaction was not precisely what he had been expecting – and certainly not the one he had hoped for! Darcy watched, with no little amount of trepidation, as a host of emotions played across Elizabeth's face. If he had expected to see joy at his declaration, he was sorely mistaken; there was most assuredly no evidence of his feelings being reciprocated.
Silence descended, uncertainty hanging heavy in the air. Darcy, keenly aware of Miss Bennet's delicate hands resting in his, had to remind himself to breathe. To be this close to Elizabeth, to touch her, and not have her was the sweetest form of torture.
The waiting… that was a different torture altogether. Why did she not say something? Yes, no, perhaps – anything, he thought, would be preferable to strained silence. He was wrong. When Elizabeth did finally speak, Darcy found silence was, in fact, preferable to what she had to say.
Miss Bennet did not simply reject his proposal – she rejected it with a force that was almost physically staggering. Darcy dropped her hands numbly and recoiled a step, trying to distance himself from the hateful words she spoke.
He was stunned by the anger and animosity Elizabeth levelled at him. If there was any doubt on Darcy's part as to the reason for her anger – and her ultimate refusal – the next few moments were sufficient to dispel them.
Mr. Darcy fought to regain his composure which, at Elizabeth's scathing words, had taken a terrible blow. The animal that lived within him roared to life and threatened to devour him whole. 'To hell with her objections!' it screamed. 'She belongs to you, take her!'
He planted his feet firmly on the floor and clasped his hands tightly behind his back. His gums ached as his fangs elongated, much in the same way a certain other part of his anatomy reacted. Each demanded that their hunger be assuaged first, leaving Darcy to fight a losing battle against his own desires.
Despite the monster that dwelt within his soul, regardless of the cursed beast he had become that fateful night Wickham shared his unholy secret, Darcy was, above all else, an English gentleman. This he reminded himself repeatedly as he forced himself to take one deep, steadying breath after another.
Second by agonising second, he reined his inner daemon back. As his canines began to recede, Darcy felt his control return in increments. Slowly – and though his hands still itched to touch Elizabeth – he lowered his hands to his sides and forced them to remain there. With control came the return of reason. Miss Bennet, he realised, had not only rejected him, she had also insulted his honour as a gentleman. His pride stung.
A small voice in the back of his mind attempted to remind him that this was exactly what he had hoped for: Elizabeth 's rejected saved them both from certain ruin.
So why did he suddenly feel as though he had been stripped bare in the street and publicly flogged?
Who was she to insult his honour?
He attempted – though perhaps less than successfully – to keep the indignation he felt from his voice as he said, "And thisis all the reply which I am to have the honour of expecting?"
Logically, Darcy knew that he should be counting his lucky stars that Elizabeth had the good sense to reject his proposal. He should beat a hasty retreat least she change her mind… but it seemed he could not make himself leave. Not yet. His needs as a man, and the desires of the monster within the man, might be held – albeit tenuously – in check but his pride as a gentleman demanded satisfaction.
"I might, perhaps, wish to be informed why, with so little endeavour at civility, I am thus rejected. But it is of small importance."
The hurt of rejection made Darcy lash out, speaking before he had given thought to the consequences.
"Forgive me," he said recklessly. "It had not occurred to me that you might already have a suitor for your hand."
His voice was laced with condescension as he spoke, deliberately looking down his noise at Miss Bennet. "Someone more suited to your station… a farmer, perhaps? But what was I thinking? It matters not so long as your mother is relieved of the burden of marrying you off."
Darcy regretted the words nearly the moment they left his lips. He did not need to see the colour rise to Elizabeth's cheeks or watch her hands clench into fists at her sides to know that he had crossed a line.
All men, if they are wise, have a sense for when they have spoken words that a lady would not wish to hear. Perhaps, if they were morewise, that sense would warn them beforethose words were spoken. For Mr. Darcy, it was too late. The words were spoken and could not be retracted. All he could do was wait for the verbal tirade that Miss Bennet was surely to unleash upon him and know, without a doubt, that he deserved it.
It would appear that his gentlemanly pride had led him to behave in a less than gentleman-like manner.