Chapter Thirteen #2
Miss Bingley smiled through gritted teeth. “My fiancé hates to be away from me for long,” she confided to Aunt Gardiner. “Traveling by a conventional coach would simply be too slow.”
Elizabeth bit her lip. Nothing good would come from revealing the true reason for Mr. Darcy’s haste.
“Naturally,” Aunt Gardiner said with a smile. “Nobody wishes to be too far from their betrothed.”
Miss Bingley leaned on Mr. Darcy’s arm, ignoring his stony expression. “Yes, he just dotes on me—”
Her words were drowned out by a piercing screech. Everyone whirled toward the sound as a large knocker goblin swooped down from the sky. It landed directly in front of the Convocation Hall’s entrance, folding its wings as it strode toward the door. Of course. It wants Mr. Hurst.
Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy pulled out their swords, shouting at the others to take shelter as they raced toward the goblin.
Shrieking as if she had been wounded, Miss Bingley raced into the nearest building.
Aunt Gardiner hurried after her and Uncle Gardiner waved for Elizabeth to follow, but she shook her head.
She would not leave the paladins to fight alone.
The paladins stood between the goblin and the building, brandishing their swords. Unfortunately, knocker goblins could breathe fire, making it difficult for the paladins to get close enough to be effective. Mr. Darcy cast an aquis spell, which quenched the fire briefly, but it came roaring back.
Elizabeth stood back and considered how she might help. This was the perfect time to attempt the banishment spell she had discovered at Rosings Park. If the spell worked, it would immediately open a portal and draw the creature back to its world. There would be no need to kill it.
Elizabeth closed her eyes, envisioning the Latin words on the page as she enunciated each one carefully. Badly pronounced Latin could cause a spell to go awry. Opening her eyes again, she drew on strands of ether, commanding them to form a portal.
Shimmering strands coalesced into a semblance of pillars and a lintel.
It was working! The rocky terrain of the goblins’ homeworld was visible on the other side of the portal.
Elizabeth gathered more strands of ether, sending them to strengthen it.
Once it was firmly in place, she carefully wound strands of ether around the goblin, chanting the words that would drag it back through the portal.
It was a delicate process since the goblin would not obligingly stand in one place.
Finally, Elizabeth had looped a cord of ether around its neck and another around its middle.
She tightened the cords, preparing to drag the goblin toward the portal.
She tugged at the strands. The spell appeared to be working, but the ether felt foreign in her hands—perhaps because this was not a spell she had crafted herself.
But there was no reason it would not work.
As she concentrated and pulled on the ether, the knocker goblin took a step backward toward the portal. The spell was working as promised.
A loud pop warned her something had gone wrong. The portal wavered and then winked out of existence. Elizabeth cried out in frustration as the goblin threw off the etheric bonds and renewed its attack on the paladins.
Hoping to conjure the portal again, Elizabeth repeated the steps of the spell. But she was drawing on dwindling reserves of energy; nothing appeared other than a faint blue glow.
The spell had failed.
Fortunately, the sounds of battle had drawn several more paladins out of the Convocation Hall.
An older man, broad-shouldered and dignified with a bushy mustache, swept onto the scene and handily doused the goblin’s flames with a few words of a spell.
By then, half a dozen paladins could attack the goblin en masse, overwhelming it and reducing it to a pile of ash within minutes.
Elizabeth watched the paladins congratulating each other on the victory, heartsick that death had been the only solution. If only the banishment spell had worked!
She had half expected Mr. Darcy to ignore her now that he was among his fellow paladins, but he cast about for her and then gestured for her to join him. “This is my uncle, the Earl of Matlock,” he told Elizabeth, waving to the older man.
Elizabeth gulped as she curtsied. The archmage! He was a tall, distinguished man, several years older than her father, but his smile was avuncular, not at all proud or intimidating.
“Sir,” Mr. Darcy addressed his uncle, “this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet. She has the most extraordinary magical abilities. I will regale you with the stories over port some time.”
The archmage fortunately seemed more intrigued than skeptical. “I look forward to it.” He nodded to Elizabeth. “If you will excuse me, I have a battle scene to clean up.”
Now that the danger had passed, Elizabeth’s aunt and uncle emerged from the building where they had taken shelter, appearing quite eager to take her home.
Miss Bingley had reclaimed her fiancé’s arm, demanding his attention.
Mr. Darcy gave Elizabeth a cursory nod when she bade him goodbye, but his eyes followed her as she walked away.
***
Dusk was gathering as Elizabeth joined her aunt and uncle in their carriage.
But she was too exhausted for extensive conversation on the way to Gracechurch Street.
She was nodding off by the time they arrived at the Gardiners’ home, and it was all she could do to eat a little cold chicken before stumbling off to bed.
She awoke refreshed the next morning, but her mind was whirling with the events of the day before.
The dragon coach ride had been one of the most thrilling events of her life—followed by one of the most frightening as she witnessed the attack of a fire-breathing knocker goblin.
And then there was the revelation of Mr. Darcy’s deep feelings for her.
Why had he told her? Was he merely unburdening his soul?
He intended to take no action, and Elizabeth could not take any herself.
But, in retrospect, she was happy she knew the truth.
It was flattering to know she could capture the attention of such a man, although someone like him was not likely to pass her way again.
She had begun to suspect a little partiality on his part but would never have guessed the depth of his emotions—or that he would confess them in such a free and open fashion. And the kiss! She had been kissed before, but the ardor in his kiss had eclipsed all previous kisses from her memory.
Surely that was the reason she had responded so enthusiastically.
Merely because he was an accomplished kisser.
Or did she harbor deeper feelings for him?
Elizabeth had always prided herself on knowing her own mind, but here she was: unsure how she felt about Mr. Darcy.
Such confusing and contradictory sentiments were new—and unwelcome.
Fortunately, when Elizabeth descended the stairs, the breakfast room was empty except for her aunt.
Over toast and ham, Elizabeth related a highly edited version of the story about her journey, explaining how their quest for information about the goblin attacks had led them to London.
She did not mention Mr. Hurst’s name. They had no proof of his perfidy, and the Gardiners would likely be safer not knowing his identity.
Her aunt turned the conversation to Mr. Darcy; something about his manner toward Elizabeth had caught the attention of both Gardiners. Pleased to unburden herself, Elizabeth confided the details of his confession in the dragon carriage, omitting only the kiss.
Aunt Gardiner was silent for such a long time after the story that Elizabeth became uneasy. “Perhaps I should not have allowed him to take my hand or speak in such a way—”
“Well, it may not have been the most prudent thing you have ever done,” her aunt said with a small smile. “But I would not condemn you for it. My question has more to do with why you allowed him to take liberties. What are your feelings about Mr. Darcy?”
“He is engaged to Miss Bingley,” she temporized.
“That is not an answer. How did you feel about his declaration?”
“I do not know…” Elizabeth said slowly. “I should be disgusted…”
“Perhaps you were flattered?”
Elizabeth laughed. “A little, I suppose. I have always believed that I would never marry—particularly if my choices were limited to men like my cousin.”
“So you were not disgusted…” her aunt prompted.
“Perhaps it is best if I do not fully examine my sentiments.”
Her aunt folded her hands on the table. “In my experience, unacknowledged feelings often return to haunt you.”
What does Aunt Gardiner see in my face? Hear in my voice? “Do you think I am in love with him?” Elizabeth inquired, horrified.
“You certainly allowed him liberties you would not have permitted from any other man.”
There was no denying the truth of that statement. At the time holding his hand and kissing him had seemed natural and right, but of course, it had been highly improper.
“You must consider another possibility,” her aunt said slowly. “Some men enjoy encouraging women to fall in love with them. Perhaps it gives them a sense of power.”
Elizabeth’s hands twisted in her lap as she forced herself to face this possibility dispassionately and rationally—despite the queasy sensation in her stomach. “I do not believe he is such a person, but I hardly have wide experience with men.”
Her aunt folded up her napkin, pushed her chair away from the table, and stood.
“Perhaps it does not matter in the end,” she said briskly.
“Regardless of his feelings—or yours—you are best advised to avoid him. He may love you or he may not. But certainly continued interaction with him can do you no good.”