Page 28 of The Lost Prophecy

Fletcher bowed. “Then I shall identify his lodgings, his close associates, and every single person on whom he feeds.”

Darcy met his eyes. “Do not approach him yourself. Be careful, Fletcher.”

Fletcher’s face remained professionally blank. “I had no intention of offering my neck in service to the investigation.”

Darcy smirked. “You have offered far worse things in defence of my wardrobe.”

“A fine coat may be replaced, sir. My neck has proved significantly more difficult to duplicate.”

Darcy returned to the door and unlocked it. “Inform me the exact moment Wickham leaves Meryton. I want every movement recorded.”

Fletcher followed him, then continued to the servants’ staircase without attracting attention. Darcy re-entered the drawing room, where Miss Bingley had abandoned any pretence of embroidery, and Hurst had progressed from wounded dignity to a full fourth glass of thick blood.

Bingley turned to Darcy. “What has happened?”

Darcy kept his voice steady. “Wickham has joined Colonel Forster’s militia.”

Miss Bingley exchanged an alarmed look with her sister, while Hurst removed the bloodstained handkerchief from his mouth and forgot his injured tongue.

Bingley ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. “Here in Meryton?”

Darcy nodded. “He arrived this morning.”

Miss Bingley’s fingers tightened in her lap. “Why would Colonel Forster accept him?”

“Because Wickham has charm, references, and no visible criminal history.”

Hurst returned his empty glass to the table. “His criminal history is frequently visible. It has fangs.”

“Not visible to humans, though,” Darcy said.

Bingley lowered his voice to a whisper. “Does he know we are at Netherfield?”

“He will discover it soon enough.” Darcy looked each one of them in the eye. “He is strictly forbidden entry to this estate. The prohibition I laid on him at Pemberley extends to any roof that shelters me. None of you will invite him, receive him, or speak to him without informing me.”

Miss Bingley glanced nervously at the ceiling, where Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bennet were safely beyond human hearing. “Does he know about the Bennets?”

Darcy frowned. “Not yet.”

The answer offered little comfort. The younger Bennet girls had spoken openly of the militia throughout their visit. Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty would seek formal introductions at the very first opportunity, while Wickham would discover their connection to Darcy and the Bingleys within mere minutes. Human society required no sinister conspiracy when a garrulous matron and a bright red coat could accomplish the same work over tea.

Bingley had worn a short route between the hearth and the window. With each circuit, Hurst drew his glass closer to his chest. “Miss Bennet cannot remain here indefinitely,” Bingley said.

Darcy’s thoughts had been travelling much the same route, although with considerably less danger to the furniture. “Mr Jones may permit her to return home soon.”

“Then we must warn them.” Bingley wheeled around, catching the brass fire irons with the tail of his coat. They struck the hearth in a deafening sequence, and Mrs Hurst snatched her workbasket out of their path while Hurst protected the only object he considered irreplaceable. “Darcy, those ladies are the jewels of the county. He will target them, I am certain.”

Darcy waited until the final poker had finished announcing the emergency. “What do you propose telling Mr Bennet? That a newly commissioned officer is actually an immortal predator who may drain one of his daughters and transform her into a creature of the night?”

Bingley’s hands remained suspended before him. The fire cracked into the silence while the practical difficulties assembled themselves inside his expression. “He might refuse to believe us.”

A short, bitter laugh escaped Mrs Hurst as she restored a spool of silk to her basket. “His wife would invite him to dinner.”

Hurst tested his bruised chin and winced at the reminder of his own recent encounter with the Bennet family. “She would ask his income first.”

Miss Bingley rose in a sweep of silk, only to state the obvious. “Then keep Wickham away from them. You are a master, Mr Darcy. You have power over lesser vampires.”

Darcy rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I can command him to leave this estate. I cannot prevent him entering public rooms, walking through Meryton, or accepting introductions from humans.”