Lizzy awakened, and after looking at the clock, fell back onto the pillows. It was only midnight, and she had been asleep for less than two hours—another seven hours until dawn. But there was a restlessness within her that would not allow her to remain in bed. She went to the armoire, took out her cloak, and quietly made her way down the stairs and out the French doors that led to the terrace. Hugging the wall of the manor house, she walked until she had reached a point where she could see the woods but where she would not be seen. She searched the treeline for any sign that Mr. Darcy and Nell were about, but all she saw were silhouettes of towering pines and the sound of rustling leaves stirred by a quiet breeze.
At the far end of the terrace, she pulled the draping off the long chair closest to the stone wall and positioned it in such a way that neither human nor animal could see her. After gathering the cloth cover about her to keep out the chill, she leaned back in the chair and looked at the silver moon. If there had never been such a thing as the moon, would there still be werewolves, she wondered? As much as she loved seeing this spectacular orb glowing in the night sky, she would do without it if it meant that Mr. Darcy would remain human.
There were other things that she wondered about as well. For instance, what was she doing curled up in a chair on the terrace in the wee hours of the morning? Was it because she wanted to be a part of Mr. Darcy’s world and to feel some of what he was experiencing or was it because she wanted to be near him on this their last night together? And when she thought of her departure, she felt the tears welling up in her eyes. How cruel Nature could be. Because of a brief encounter on a mountain road in the Black Forest fourteen years earlier, she would never be Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy. She would be willing to give up everything: Pemberley, the carriages, and all the other worldly goods, if only she could have a fully human Mr. Darcy. But such a thing was not possible because becoming a werewolf was not a disease that could be cured or an affliction that could be healed. It was a state of being, and he could no more stop being a werewolf than she could cease to be a woman. Pulling up the hood of her cloak, she turned her back to the moon and eventually sleep overtook her.
Unaware of how much time had passed, Lizzy was awakened by a cold wind, and with its arrival, the last of Indian summer departed. Even if the weather had remained balmy, falling asleep on a chair had probably not been a good idea because her neck and shoulders were stiff, and with her eyes closed, she made circles with her head trying to loosen the tension in her muscles. But when she opened her eyes, she saw him, lying in the grass, no more than ten feet from her, and he had probably been there the whole time she had been sleeping.
She swung her legs over the side of the chair until she was facing him, her eyes never leaving his face. He had the most remarkable eyes, and she felt as if she was in a trance, held in his power by his piercing gaze. Under any other circumstance, she would have been uncomfortable with anyone staring at her in such a way, but that was not the case with Mr. Darcy. It was actually a comfort for her to know that he had been watching over her.
“I suspect you have been there awhile, Mr. Darcy.” Lizzy shook her head and smiled at the absurdity of someone talking to a wolf. He probably did not understand her any better than her little Scottie did, but then again, Mr. Darcy was not a dog, but a wolf and a man. So it was possible that he was able to comprehend what she was saying.
“Is Nell nearby?” Lizzy asked, and Darcy turned his head in the direction of the woods. “Ah, so you do understand me. And how have you been occupying your time this evening? Have you been hunting rabbits or did you flush out some pheasants from their coveys? You are not saying. I understand. You do not want to reveal the secrets of your hunting success. All right then, shall we speak of that business in the clearing this afternoon? I shall tell you what I think happened. You knew I was watching you as you ran circles around Nell. I am also of a mind to believe that you and Anne had planned that excursion so that I might see what a fine animal you are. Am I correct, Mr. Darcy?
“Yes, I can see that I am right. You turn your head away from me because I have guessed correctly. You staged a bit of theater for my benefit. Well, I shall concede that you and Nell were quite entertaining, but I do not approve of how you run at her. She is a girl, a lady, a female, whatever you want to call her. You should not be so rough.”
Darcy gave a low growl. “Oh, I know all about your being the alpha male and that you command total obedience, but, sir, that is only in the wild. I imagine that it must be very hard for you to return to your human form and find that there are those who will not agree with you all of the time.” Darcy lifted his head as if pointing at her, and Lizzy gave a quiet laugh. “You are remembering when we first met—when I would not defer to you in all things. I believe that is what fixed your attention. I daresay you had grown tired of too much deference, and you wanted someone who showed some spirit.”
Lizzy closed her eyes and, in a moment, all that had happened to bring them to this day flashed before her. Their rough beginning at the Meryton assembly, his inept attempts to make amends, his offensive proposal, his kindness in rescuing Lydia, their reconciliation, and his many visits to Longbourn. When in Hertfordshire, it was obvious how much he had wanted to ask her to be his wife, but then he had revealed the reason he had not proposed—that awful secret that would eventually be the cause of their parting. Lizzy lifted up her head in an attempt to keep her tears from spilling over, but it was impossible to hold back so much sorrow. When she looked at Mr. Darcy, he had crept closer to her, and she slid off the chair so that she was sitting next to him.
She ran her hand over his magnificent coat. It was as black as ebony, thick and curly—just like his hair, and he responded with a quick lick on her hand, but no more because, after all, it was a mere scratch that had turned him into a werewolf. Lizzy covered her mouth to keep from sobbing openly.
“If you wanted, how easily you could have your way. All it would take would be the tiniest scratch, and I would be a she wolf and would become a part of your world. But you will not do it because you truly love me.” She buried her head in his coat. “Oh, Mr. Darcy, what are we to do?”