Chapter Six #3
“I need time to study the ritual and learn the spell. This is one spell I do not want to have go awry. However, if we have learned nothing more in a week’s time, I will undertake a summoning.
” He frowned at her. “But you must give me your word that you will not attempt a summoning on your own. That is the condition of my assistance.”
Elizabeth hesitated but then nodded. “I give my word.” A solo attempt would be dangerous.
“Good.” He appeared as if the whole world weighed down his shoulders. “I can only hope that this scheme becomes unnecessary.”
“As do I.”
He regarded her solemnly. “None of our options are attractive. Perhaps we can choose the least bad one.” With that cheering thought, they said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.
***
Darcy spent the remainder of the day searching for summoning spells.
Fortunately, the Netherfield library had a few older books written during a time when summoning was not illegal.
He chose a spell that promised to keep the portal open so the goblin might return; hopefully it would work as it claimed.
Although he still believed a summoning was a terrible idea, it could become necessary.
The following day was the Netherfield ball.
Darcy was pleased at the prospect of encountering Elizabeth under more auspicious circumstances.
Perhaps she would dance with him this time; surely he had made some inroads of friendship by now.
At times during the day, the idea of dancing with Elizabeth excited him to the point of distraction.
He could imagine the touch of her hand in his, the liveliness sparkling in her eyes, and a smile just for him.
Such eagerness was uncharacteristic of Darcy and worried him upon occasion.
But, of course, she was lovely and a witty conversationalist. Any man would be pleased to dance with her.
It meant nothing. And dancing with her was a kindness since so many men in Hertfordshire avoided her.
He would be allowing her to exhibit her dancing skills. Her light and pleasing figure.
And no doubt this minor obsession was an attempt to distract himself from larger anxieties about the goblin attacks.
Bingley had been rightfully concerned about the safety of his guests; he would have happily called off the event altogether, but Caroline had insisted on proceeding. She was bent on demonstrating the family’s wealth and taste, showing Hertfordshire how a “real” ball was conducted.
Bingley had hired mages from London to encircle the manor as guards. Since portals rarely opened indoors, those precautions should be sufficient.
It would be incumbent upon Darcy to dance with Caroline; in fact, they were to lead the first dance. The prolonged visit to Netherfield had allowed him to become better acquainted with Caroline—which had been his purpose—but additional knowledge had not led to more tender emotions.
When he had first met Caroline, he had liked that she was a woman of strong opinions who would speak her mind.
Her fine manners and elegance, he believed, compensated for the occasional abrasiveness that she directed toward her brother or the servants.
Now that they were betrothed, however, he had learned that the brusqueness was intrinsic to her character, and it provoked no little anxiety.
When they danced, Caroline always surveyed the room and remarked upon who noticed them—as if Darcy was the prize hog that she proudly displayed at the county fair.
But there was nothing for it. He could not be forsworn. We are engaged, he reminded himself. I must dance with her. She will be my wife, and I should show her every consideration.
She had organized an elegant ball that spared no expense in the décor; the effect was stunning.
She had hired a London mage with an expertise in illusions, and he had made the entire room resemble a wooded glade.
The walls were covered with the illusion of a woodland scene, the ceiling twinkled with faux stars, and a bright “moon” hung where the chandelier would be.
Wood nymphs frolicked through the room, often turning themselves into trees and back again.
Trays of food and drinks appeared to float through the air as they were held aloft by tiny pixies frantically flapping their wings.
The entrance doors were adorned with large images of Bingley’s family members.
Bingley and Caroline adorned one door and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst occupied the other.
Each portrait was as tall as a person and the effect was rather more startling than pleasing.
Whenever he passed by the doors, the illusory Caroline appeared to be watching Darcy and judging his actions.
There could be no doubt that Caroline had achieved her goal of outshining everyone in Hertfordshire.
In fact, few balls in London could have surpassed this one.
She smiled proudly as guests entered the room and gaped at the décor.
Darcy could not help wondering if it was the best use of Bingley’s fortune.
Bingley, in contrast, was barely containing his anxiety.
He fidgeted constantly with his cuffs or cravat, no doubt wondering whether the wards would hold.
Darcy stood beside Bingley at the ballroom entrance for a time as he welcomed guests.
During the lulls between the guests’ arrival, the two men spoke of the upcoming election for archmage.
The position was elected every three years, and, of course, Darcy’s uncle was standing for election again.
Darcy was shocked to learn that Bingley intended to support Hurst for the position. “I know Matlock is your uncle,” his friend said hastily, “but I believe Hurst would do a fine job. He is exceedingly dedicated.”
Hurst only dedicated himself to dinner—in Darcy’s estimation. “I have never heard you speak of Hurst in such a way.”
Bingley shrugged uncomfortably. “He really is quite clever.”
His friend’s words made no sense to Darcy. “Hurst is barely a mage. You know he only received an Academy degree because of his family’s influence.”
Bingley waved a hand. “That was the rumor, but I do not believe it. And just think of everything he has accomplished recently.” Bingley turned to greet a series of guests, and Darcy never learned about Hurst’s “accomplishments.”
Darcy was completely diverted when the Longbourn party arrived. They were joined by a cringing, oily man whom Darcy assumed to be the visiting cousin that Bingley had mentioned. Darcy had expected a somewhat older gentleman, closer to Mr. Bennet’s age, but this man was young and likely unmarried.
When Elizabeth entered the room, however, Darcy could look nowhere else. She was particularly stunning tonight in a white gown adorned with tiny rosebuds. After Bingley greeted her, Darcy wasted no time in prevailing upon her to partner him for the second set. Elizabeth smiled but declined.
“I am afraid the first two sets have been claimed by my cousin, Mr. Collins.” She gestured to the obsequious man who was blathering to Bingley about his patroness’s lap dog.
Mrs. Bennet was watching the man with an approving smile.
No doubt she hoped he would wed one of her daughters.
Elizabeth would be the obvious choice, he realized.
They would hope Miss Bennet would marry Bingley, and the others were rather young.
Darcy’s stomach roiled. Nobody understood Elizabeth’s worth. Her magical talent would be wasted as the wife of a country priest. He wanted to make Mrs. Bennet understand. And he wanted to make Collins understand. Or possibly punch his smirking face.
Darcy secured Elizabeth’s promise for the third set, but he had no opportunity for further discourse before Caroline summoned him to lead her in the first dance.
Darcy hated to be put on display in such a way, but Caroline preened and strutted, so at least one person was happy.
They made a striking couple; the blue in her gown even matched the blue of his waistcoat.
Naturally he was obligated to converse with Caroline. Fortunately this was a simple matter as long as he focused the conversation on her. “The ball is magnificent. You have outdone yourself.”
“No doubt it will set a new standard for elegance in Hertfordshire,” Caroline said with a satisfied smile.
“And you are lovely,” he added. “That gown is quite elegant.”
“Madame Delacroix says I possess exquisite taste.”
Darcy guessed the mantua maker said that to all her clients since, in truth, Caroline was adorned with enough peacock feathers to have denuded an entire flock. The effect was arresting, but he would not have labeled it “exquisite.”
Darcy could not avoid glimpses of Elizabeth dancing with Collins.
She was everything light and graceful while her partner was an oaf.
In fact, dancing with him was decidedly hazardous.
The first dance was “The King’s Hop,” which called for mages of any power to manipulate the ether so their partners would levitate in the air for a few seconds.
The music had been specifically composed to take into account this short “hop” in the air.
The first time Collins levitated Elizabeth, he landed her on another man’s toes.
The second time, Elizabeth crashed into the woman dancing beside her.
Darcy winced. It was not easy to secure the precise timing of the levitation, but Collins appeared to have never practiced the maneuver.
He should not even be attempting levitation; plenty of other men were keeping their partners firmly on the floor.
Darcy watched the third hop with sick fascination. However, Elizabeth lifted off the floor perfectly—to the desired height of four inches—hung for a second, and then gracefully sank back to the floor, absolutely in time with the music.
Elizabeth was grinning. Oh. She had lifted herself, and Collins’s self-satisfied smirk showed that he remained oblivious.
When it came time for another lift, Darcy was forced to focus on his own dancing, managing to levitate Caroline with perfect timing.
But his thoughts were consumed with Elizabeth.
Possessing a vivacity that no other woman in the room could come close to achieving, she practically glowed in Darcy’s sight.
He did not understand how anyone in the ballroom could avert their gaze from her.
Why could other men not grasp how special she was?
They should be lining up to be her dance partner.
Darcy was just as pleased that she remained his special secret, but his heart ached that she was not receiving her due from the male half of the population.
Surely some man of worth would understand her value.
Someone far better than Collins. Someone like…
No men of his acquaintance would be worthy of her. Which was just as well because thinking of her on another man’s arm made his stomach clench unpleasantly. It made no sense. She could never be his. Why was he so obsessed with her?
The answer fell over him like rain out of a clear blue sky.
I am in love with her.