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?
