Page 25 of The Lost Prophecy

Chapter Five: Fresh Blood in the Drawing Room

DARCY HAD RETURNED from a punishing morning ride, changed his coat, and spent twenty minutes affecting to examine Bingley’s estate accounts when the crunch of carriage wheels reached the study.

Bingley abandoned the ledger before the horses had even stopped. Both he and Darcy moved to the drawing room, where Miss Bingley had lowered her embroidery, Mrs Hurst had set aside a dense book she was reading, and Hurst had opened his eyes from a state which might have been sleep, if sleep had involved holding a full glass upright for half an hour.

Mrs Bennet entered the room first. She was followed by Miss Mary, Miss Kitty, and Miss Lydia, whose combined, racing pulses announced their approach before the footman had even opened the drawing room door. Darcy heard Miss Elizabeth descending the main staircase from the upper floor at the same time. Her heartbeat joined those of her family, distinct enough that he recognised it without the slightest effort, and unwelcome enough that he recognised the pleasure this gave him.

Bingley welcomed Mrs Bennet with warmth and conducted her to the best armchair. “Miss Bennet’s fever broke during the night. Mr Jones has examined her again and believes she will recover quickly, although he insists that she remain upstairs today.”

Mrs Bennet pressed one gloved hand to her breast. “My poor Jane has always had a delicate constitution, although she is very healthy in general. I knew she must not be moved too soon. A journey to Longbourn could undo every single improvement.”

Miss Elizabeth appeared in the doorway in time to hear this medical conclusion. Her eyes found Darcy briefly, and the vivid memory of their conversation beside his horse came to him before she had even greeted her family.

She stepped into the room. “Mamma, Jane is much better, but she will be disappointed not to see you. Mr Jones wishes her to remain quiet.”

Mrs Bennet settled deeper into the plush chair. “Then we must not disturb her. Nothing on this earth could persuade me to risk my dearest child merely because she happens to be ill away from home.”

The satisfaction glowing beneath her maternal concern was impossible to miss. Miss Bennet’s continued residence at Netherfield pleased her. Bingley’s agitation pleased her still more. The elegance surrounding both provided enough consolation to sustain a mother through any daughter’s fever.

Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst performed the minimum courtesies required of hostesses. Tea appeared, sweet cakes travelled around the room, and each Bennet girl received a brief enquiry concerning her health. Miss Bingley’s civility reached the precise temperature at which no one could accuse her of rudeness without first producing measuring instruments.

Hurst had abandoned his imitation of rest.

His gaze moved from Miss Mary to Miss Kitty, then settled on Miss Lydia. The three young women carried fresh, pumping human blood into a household whose immortal occupants had fed, but not recently enough to ignore it. Miss Mary’s pulse was steady beneath her high collar. Miss Kitty’s accelerated whenever Miss Lydia whispered to her, while Miss Lydia’s beat strongly and without caution, proclaiming health, youth, and ignorance of danger.

Hurst moistened his lips.

Darcy shifted one boot under the low tea table and directed a lethal warning to the older-looking vampire. Hurst acknowledged neither the boot nor the glare.

Mrs Bennet happily accepted a second cup of tea. “Jane is greatly admired wherever she goes. Lady Lucas may speak of Charlotte’s good sense, but good sense does not magically improve a complexion. Charlotte is seven-and-twenty, and no gentleman has shown the faintest inclination to her.”

Miss Elizabeth placed her cup into its saucer. “Mamma, please. Charlotte is our dear friend.”

Mrs Bennet waved a dismissive hand. “I have not spoken against her. I merely observed that she is plain and unmarried, which are facts rather than insults.”

Miss Mary folded her hands piously in her lap. “Beauty is a transient advantage. The cultivation of the mind offers a much more durable source of distinction.”

Miss Lydia selected the largest cake from the tray. “Gentlemen do not ask minds to dance.”

Hurst’s predatory interest intensified when Miss Lydia leaned forward to take a bite. Miss Kitty, attempting to reach the sugar bowl, knocked one glove from her lap. It fell under the low tea table.

Hurst left his chair before Darcy could forbid the movement. “I shall retrieve it.”

Gallantry had never moved Hurst with such speed. He bent low under the table, found the dropped glove, and remained hovering there while Miss Lydia’s skirts brushed the carpet mere inches from his face. His pupils dilated, one canine descending past his lower lip.

Darcy slid his boot under Hurst’s chin and raised it.

Hurst’s teeth struck together with a brutal snap. His head hit the solid underside of the table, disturbing every single porcelain cup resting above it. He returned to his chair, clutching Miss Kitty’s glove in one hand and his bruised jaw in the other.

Miss Kitty regarded him in genuine surprise. “Are you hurt, Mr Hurst?”

He extended the glove stiffly while blood from his bitten tongue coloured his lower lip. “The table is lower than I anticipated.”

Darcy rested his foot on the floor. “You should approach antique furniture with far greater caution.”

Hurst glared at him with pure venom, accepted a fresh glass from a waiting footman, and drained it without pause. He repeated the process throughout the remainder of the visit, restricting his gaze to the decanter and keeping every part of himself above the table.

Mrs Bennet had noticed nothing beyond the trembling tea service. She continued lavishly praising Miss Bennet, Mr Bingley, and the house until each subject merged into one agreeable future. Netherfield was situated at a convenient distance from Longbourn, had fine rooms, and would benefit greatly from a mistress capable of understanding the neighbourhood.