A Touch of Night by Sarah A. Hoyt

unfocused. For the first time in a long while, Elizabeth felt a wave of sympathy towards him. However he might have pretended that he supported the were laws, it was clear that he suffered greatly over his friend's death.
    "It must be very hard," she said, softly. "When a were is caught and killed." In her mind there was an image of poor Jane being caught and brought to bay by a regiment in Were -Hunters uniforms. She spoke even as her hands played upon the piano, and looked up to see both men staring at her, the colonel with a slightly amused expression that seemed quite out of keeping. An expression of confused amusement, if that made any sense. Meanwhile, Mr. Darcy was looking at her, his gaze softened.
    "I just thought," Elizabeth said, and blushed, "that when a were is killed, his friends and family are hardly given the time or the chance to mourn. Instead, no matter how good the person was, they are supposed to rejoice that a were has been caught."
    "Yes," Mr. Darcy said, with some force. "Oh, yes." His hand that had been resting on the piano went up to his forehead and rested there, as if trying to erase a headache.
    "Did you ever...?" The colonel cleared his throat. He seemed very amused by the exchange between Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth was quite at a loss to know why. "Have you ever met a were , Miss Bennet?"
    Why did he ask that as if he were laughing at something? Elizabeth looked at Mr. Darcy to see if they were having a joke on her, then she shook her head and blushed. "No. I have never had that ... It never happened. But I have always thought that they are people like other people and that the good ones are good and the evil ones are evil."
    "You are singular in that opinion," Fitzwilliam said, his gaze sharpened.
    "I believe that people can't be judged for what they can't help being," Elizabeth said and sighed. "All of us have... evil traits we must fight against. Sometimes I think those more severely afflicted are more worthy when they conquer."
    "Sevrin was the best of men," Mr. Darcy said, his voice vibrating with such emotion that Elizabeth did not know what to say. She looked up to see the gentleman looking at her with what, in another man, she would swear was an expression of pure adoration. She didn't know what to do, and was rescued from her embarrassment by Lady Catherine's sharp voice, "Of what are you speaking? I must have my share of the conversation. I must."
    "I was merely," Mr. Darcy said, and cleared his throat. "Complimenting Miss Bennet on her piano playing. I have rarely heard something that gave me more pleasure."
    "She doesn't play badly," Lady Catherine said. "But to be a true proficient, she must practice more. She should come and practice on the pianoforte in Miss Jenkinson's rooms. She'd be in no one's way in that part of the house."
    At this, Elizabeth had to smile to herself, and while Lady Catherine went on expounding on her great love of music, Elizabeth played more to herself than to the gentlemen. At any rate, after a while she looked up and noticed that Colonel Fitzwilliam had vanished and only Mr. Darcy remained, leaning against the doorframe and looking at her with an inscrutable expression.
    As she met his eyes, he grinned. "You must know, Miss Bennet, that you have very decided opinions for one so young."
    His unconscious mimicry -- or had he guessed those words, or some very similar, had already been used to her by his aunt? -- discomfited her, and she rose quickly and curtseyed. She crossed the drawing room, avoiding Lady Catherine's attempt at conversation. Mr. Collins was ooking reverentially to some long speech of the Lady's. To Charlotte's enquiry, Elizabeth said, "I believe I must go out for a breath of air. I feel a headache coming on."

    * * * *

    Out in the garden, she walked about for a while, keeping -- for she had learned her lesson -- to the well lighted paths, the ones ornamented with fountains and statues. Which was why, as she rounded a massive