Chapter Two #2
Elizabeth’s camaraderie with the paladins evaporated. She should be used to such a reaction, but it was still vexing. “I did. You are welcome.”
Mr. Darcy colored. “Yes, of course, I thank you. But—How did you—? I have never witnessed a fully realized illusion on that scale. Usually the large ones are quite flat and unrealistic.”
Elizabeth could not discern whether he was disapproving or admiring, not that it mattered.
She shrugged. “Many women are accomplished at minor illusion spells.” That was true enough.
From a young age, girls were taught how to conceal a stain or rip in their dresses.
When they grew older, most women used a touch of illusion to conceal blemishes or make their cheeks a little rosier.
“I have experimented in the past with making larger ones.”
“Experimented?” Mr. Darcy said in alarm.
“It is perfectly safe; nobody has ever been killed by an illusion,” Elizabeth said dryly.
“It was most extraordinary!” Mr. Bingley said with the false cheer of someone endeavoring to prevent an argument. “The level of detail was amazing, and the phoenix moved so fluidly.”
Elizabeth blushed a little at his praise. “I once convinced my mother that the chickens had invaded our drawing room.” Her father chuckled at the memory, and Mr. Bingley smiled. Mr. Darcy’s expression was stony.
“I would never have prevailed upon you to risk your safety,” he said stiffly.
Elizabeth sighed inwardly. Could the man not simply say “thank you” and be done with it? “Fortunately for you, I did not wait for an invitation. I could not stand idly by and do nothing, Mr. Darcy—any more than you could have.”
He blinked several times. “I am a paladin.”
Elizabeth was tempted to laugh. “And I am someone who did not desire to see a paladin get mauled.”
The muscles in Mr. Darcy’s jaw tightened as if he tasted something extremely unpleasant.
“I am exceedingly grateful for your assistance,” Mr. Bingley said emphatically. “I shudder to think about the consequences if that creature had gained entrance to the hall.”
“Indeed. I wonder why it was so intent on reaching the hall.”
Two servants brought out a litter, and they gently transferred her father to it.
One man told Elizabeth in soft tones that they had summoned the healer.
Elizabeth watched the men carry her father up the steps and into the hall, preparing to follow them.
But Mr. Darcy cleared his throat to gain her attention.
“It was an unnecessary risk.” He scowled and crossed his arms over his chest. “You could have suffered magical depletion.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. She had certainly practiced magic long enough to recognize when she was reaching the limits of her energy.
Between worry for her father and Mr. Darcy’s condescending attitude, her forbearance had frayed.
She smiled through gritted teeth. “What a shame I did not have a chance to study magic at the Academy. Then I might have high enough self-regard to be a real benefit to you.”
Without awaiting a response, she turned on her heel and climbed the steps back into the hall.
***
Darcy watched Miss Elizabeth disappear into the assembly hall as calmly as if she were on the dance floor.
Despite the tear in the hem of her dress and the bloodstains on the bodice—not to mention the January chill—she was remarkably composed.
Of course, she had not done the hard work of fighting a goblin with a blade.
Darcy was completely bedraggled. Damp pieces of hair hung over his forehead, his suit was ruined, and his left leg was encased in mud up to the knee.
People were spilling out of the assembly hall now that the danger was past. Some guests raced toward carriages as if they could not depart fast enough.
Others gawked at the enormous pile of dust or the paladins’ bloodstained clothing.
Their appearance apparently discouraged anyone from attempting conversation—which was just as well as far as Darcy was concerned.
Darcy rounded on Bingley. “You should not encourage Miss Elizabeth.”
“Encourage her? I thanked her.” Bingley lifted his chin. “Without her intervention, it is unlikely that we would have prevented the goblin from reaching the hall. Or that we would both be standing here. We have fought hobgoblins before, but never one of that size.”
“She inserted herself into a fight that she barely understood—one that many trained mages would have hesitated to involve themselves in.”
Bingley sighed. “Darcy, we needed assistance. We had not prepared to meet a goblin of that size. I was barely conscious, and you had lost your sword. Her intervention was most timely.”
Darcy did not argue the point; indeed he could not. But his friend needed to understand the danger of encouraging such a woman. “She might be tempted to try such a thing again.”
“Such as casting an illusion?”
Darcy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Such as dabbling in higher magic. Like thrusting herself into a battle she is in no way prepared to fight. You know what happens to mages who stretch themselves beyond their limits. Someone could get hurt—most likely Miss Elizabeth.”
Bingley shrugged. “It is not as if she chased after the goblin with a sword.”
“She was fortunate. But what would happen if she confronts another goblin? Instead of summoning a paladin, she might endeavor to defeat it herself. It could put the entire neighborhood in danger.”
Bingley frowned. “Why are you so out of charity with her? I understand if you were stung when she threw your words in your face. Still—”
“She is an amateur attempting to play a professionals’ game,” he said. “It is dangerous to her and everyone near her.”
“Do you realize she invented that illusion spell,” Bingley said. “Not only is she a mage but also a spell crafter. I have never even heard of a female spell crafter.”
“Not recently. There are stories in history books, of course,” Darcy said. “Legends.” Mages who could create spells were rare; most mages simply used spells that others had created. “Of course, she was merely enlarging an existing spell, not creating an entirely new one.”
“I could not have done so. Could you?”
Darcy ignored the question. “I am an advocate of being open-minded. But Miss Elizabeth’s actions are dangerous. There is a reason that women are barred from the Academy.”
“I thought the Convocation forbids it because they have no chaperones or quarters for female students,” Bingley said.
“Yes, that as well.” Darcy sighed.
Before Bingley could respond, they were approached by a smiling Sir William Lucas. “Quite an uproar, eh gentlemen? What is the world coming to? A goblin attack at a ball!”
“You are fortunate we were here. It is a shame that there are no paladins stationed in Hertfordshire,” Bingley said.
“I suppose. But we would not have much for them to do. I do not believe Hertfordshire has ever encountered a hobgoblin before.”
“Paladins do far more to protect communities than fight goblins,” Darcy observed. It was a common misconception since goblin fighting was the most visible part of their duties.
“Yes, of course. Capital! Capital!” Sir William leaned closer to the two paladins and spoke in a low voice. “I hear that Miss Elizabeth was out here during the attack…Did she, er, lend you a hand?”
Darcy stiffened. “In a manner of speaking. Has she done such things before?” He instantly regretted the question; the answer, like the woman, meant nothing to him.
Although, naturally, he was curious. How much did she know?
How had she received her training? Perhaps he could ask her a few questions the next time they met. Purely to satisfy his curiosity.
Sir William stroked his chin with one hand. “Yes, indeed. She is an odd one. Her father has some…eccentric notions about training women as mages.”
“I wonder that a father would make such a choice.” Darcy shuddered at what his relatives would say if his sister took up anything beyond traditionally feminine magic.
Sir William’s fingers fiddled with one of the embroidery on his waistcoat.
“That’s not to say that her magic does not come in handy upon occasion.
Aside from her father, Meryton does not possess many powerful mages.
When we had that business with the possessed rabbit…
she exorcised it quite quickly. And she was very helpful when Hertfordshire experienced a curse on buttons—never stayed closed, it got quite embarrassing.
So I suppose folks in Meryton are accustomed to her… eccentricities.”
Bingley was intrigued. “Her magic is accepted in the neighborhood?”
“Tolerated, I would say,” Sir William hedged.
“Although plenty would prefer she kept a lower profile—that is until their turnip field is haunted.” He laughed a bit.
“But she is a dear friend of my daughter’s and always welcome at Lucas Lodge.
Although….” He lowered his voice. “I did discourage my son from pursuing her.”
This was as Darcy had suspected. Wielding such power made Miss Elizabeth an outcast. Perhaps it was unfair for the Meryton society to judge her as unladylike, but such was life.
Before Darcy could respond, Sir William hailed a gentleman who was passing by. “Hey ho! Stabler, who will pay to have the goblin’s ashes removed?” The two men argued amiably as Sir William accompanied his friend back into the assembly hall.
Bingley gingerly touched the back of his head as if it ached. “Are you well?” Darcy pressed him. “The goblin threw you quite a distance.”
“I believe I only lost consciousness for a few seconds…”
“We should get you out of the cold—and have the healer examine you.”
“And you,” Bingley said, indicating the cut on Darcy’s arm.
The last thing Darcy needed was to sit in a sickroom next to Elizabeth Bennet’s father. “It is nothing serious. I will have the healer look at it later.” Now that Bingley had drawn his attention to it, Darcy was aware of how fiercely it ached.