Mr. Darcy’s Enchantment

Chapter 2

E lizabeth turned away from Darcy and hurried off, lest he look back over his shoulder and see her standing there like a lost waif. Had that truly just happened? Mr. Darcy making her an offer of marriage – and in such an insulting manner! And she had been just as bad, saying horrible things back to him. Charlotte would be furious with her if she knew.

She pressed her hands against her hot cheeks. Charlotte’s wrath was the least of her worries. She had put herself in danger. If Mr. Darcy had not known of her magic already, he certainly had enough evidence to realize it now. After all, who would resolve never to marry a mage unless they were afraid of mages? And there was only one reason she would be afraid of mages.

Why had she not simply said it was because of Jane? He had not contested that point at all, as he had regarding Wickham and the Collegium. Oh dear, his explanation for that made more sense than Wickham’s, and Darcy would not have told her to ask Colonel Fitzwilliam if it were false. Wickham had seemed so honest and open. Or perhaps she had just been gullible. Now she had made a fool of herself on top of everything else. What did it matter? Darcy had plenty of reasons to think ill of her besides her gullibility.

Tears ran down her face. She could not return to the parsonage like this, so she stopped at the stone bench in the grove and finally allowed herself to sob into her handkerchief, overcome with shame and wretchedness. That Mr. Darcy had cared for her all this time, while despising her and her family! She had always seen her mother and younger sisters as an embarrassment, but to hear him describe how their behavior reflected on her was beyond humiliation. How many other people felt the same way?

A cold shiver ran up her spine. Her humiliation did not matter. She was in danger now. There was no time to dwell on anything else. Once Mr. Darcy realized she had magic, he would put a binding spell on her. She had to get away before that happened, but how? The coaching inn was five miles away, and by the time she arrived there, the last coach of the day would have departed. She would have to delay until tomorrow. But would Mr. Darcy wait that long? He was due to leave Rosings the day after tomorrow, and he would want to resolve this right away.

Tonight she was to dine at Rosings along with the Collinses. She would have to plead a headache to avoid going. But that might make him suspicious that she was trying to escape, and he would act even more quickly. Better for her to go to Rosings, uncomfortable as it might be, and make him think he had plenty of time to deal with her. After all, he could hardly place a spell on her at dinner. No, he would want to wait until morning when he could get her alone.

She was not safe even now. What was she thinking to sit in a place he knew was one of her favorites? Barely able to see through her tears, she hurried away to the hidden deer path leading to the center of the grove. He would not know to look for her in the glade. She was safe, at least for the moment.

She would have to sneak away from the parsonage during the night if she wished to arrive at the posting inn for the first stagecoach. Once she reached the Gardiners in London, they would help her find a place to hide. Too many people could guess that would be her destination, though, so she needed to lay a false trail to delay Mr. Darcy. She could leave a note saying she could no longer live with herself and that she would find peace in the millpond. Charlotte would be distraught until she discovered it was untrue, but it would delay Mr. Darcy until they dredged the millpond. By then she would be in London.

She gazed across the glade. If she could not reach the stagecoach, there was still one last option. She fingered the smooth stone in her reticule. It would be risky, but better than being bound. The tightness in her chest eased a little.

But even if she escaped and avoided being bound, nothing would ever be the same. She could never return to her home because Darcy would know to look for her there. For now, she could not afford to dwell on that future. She had to be strong, and she had always known this could happen someday. There was even a certain comfort in having an end to it.

She waited until she thought the signs of tears would have faded from her face before starting off for the parsonage. When she came to the gate at the edge of the grounds of Rosings, she peered up and down the lane. No one in sight.

She had not gone far when she encountered Colonel Fitzwilliam walking towards Rosings. After a brief jolt of fear, she realized he could not yet have spoken to Darcy. But he might still be aware of Darcy’s feelings for her, and that made her unaccountably nervous.

“Well met, Miss Bennet,” he said jovially. “I was just at the parsonage hoping to see you.”

“Now you have found me.” She forced a smile to her face. “I am on my way back there.”

“May I have the honor of walking with you?”

“It would be a pleasure.” Or at least a distraction. And perhaps she could take the opportunity to confirm Mr. Darcy’s story about Mr. Wickham. It would answer at least one of the million questions swirling in her head. “Colonel, I would like to ask you a question, if that would not be impertinent. ”

“You may ask a question, and I will do my best to answer it.”

“Recently a troop of militia was stationed in the town where I live. Among them was a man who claimed acquaintance with Mr. Darcy, a Mr. Wickham. He told me –”

The usually affable Colonel looked thunderous. “Whatever Wickham told you is likely to be a lie. He is not to be trusted.”

She flushed. Now he would know how gullible she had been, too. “He said he had been a member of the Collegium, but that Mr. Darcy had him expelled because of his low birth.”

“Because of his low morals would be more accurate. Darcy should have reported him to the Collegium years before he did, but he kept giving Wickham warnings and hoping he would change. I could have told him that would never happen. Wickham is a gambler. He used illusions to change the appearance of his cards so he could win. He is a blackguard. I urge you to stay well away from him.”

Wickham, who had seemed so sincere in his attentions to her. How utterly humiliating to discover what a fool she had been! “Thank you. I had been wondering if there might be more to the story than he had told me, and you have confirmed it.”

“I commend you for your perception. Wickham has such a charming manner with ladies. I have never yet known one who could see through his masquerade before it was too late.”

She looked away from him and said in a low voice, “You give me credit where none is due. I believed his blandishments until I was given reason to suspect him. I am mortified to discover I was so gullible.”

“You should not be. I have known experienced, sensible women who have fallen for his charm. I sometimes wonder if he uses magic to blind ladies to his failings.”

“That is a frightening thought.” But it made more sense than she cared to admit.

“Frightening indeed. There are very few mages who can cast glamour, but I suspect he may be one of them.”

“I thought only the fay could cast glamour,” she said.

“They are the masters of it, if the old stories are to be believed. Most mages are limited to illusions which can be easily detected by touch.”

Which would be worse, that he had fooled her with false charm or with magic? Time for a change of subject, or she would start crying again. “I hear that illusion has become more popular as decoration at society events in London.”

“True. It is amusing to attempt to pick out which one of the guests has cast the spells. At Lady Atherton’s ball last month, one wall appeared to open onto the desert and the Great Pyramids. It took two mages all day to weave that one.”

“Was it convincing?”

“From a visual standpoint, yes, unless you attempted to walk into it and hit the wall instead. Since I could still smell the hothouse flowers, perfume, and candlewax and hear the orchestra playing, it was difficult to convince me I was in the Egyptian desert. It is tiring work, maintaining a large illusion for so long.”

It was even more tiring to maintain the illusion that she had no magic. How would the colonel react when Darcy told him she might have magic? She would rather not know.

DARCY RESTED HIS FOREHEAD in his left hand while he dipped his quill in the inkwell. Only a little more now. He had already written an explanation why he had separated Bingley from Jane Bennet and laid bare the entirety of his connection to Wickham, from their childhood to Wickham’s expulsion from the Collegium to his attempt to elope with Georgiana as revenge. If Elizabeth was fool enough to trust Wickham after that, her downfall would not be on Darcy’s conscience.

Only one more section and he would be done. Once he was finished with this letter, the stabbing pain in his chest and the nausea of humiliation would end, and he would be free again. He needed to say all the things he had been too angry and hurt to tell her in person. After that, their entire acquaintance would be over.

He had to hurry. He would be expected downstairs in less than an hour, and that might be his only opportunity to give her the letter.

Lastly I must mention the matter of the Collegium. I am not in agreement with all Collegium policies. Many mages would prefer to see an end to the restriction on women’s use of magic, but change comes slowly. Perhaps you will still condemn me for any association with the Collegium, but if those of us who disagree with the rules depart, those changes will never happen.

How could Elizabeth, his heart’s own Elizabeth, have simply assumed the worst about him? He had never said a word to her about women and magic, though he had long since guessed she had it. Did she think him so detestable that there was not even the possibility he might have his own opinions on the matter? And he had thought she cared about him. Wretched, wretched mistake.

Now she would know better, and she would see what her prejudiced view of all mages had cost her. She could have been Mistress of Pemberley, and instead she would be nothing.

Why could she not simply have accepted him as any other woman in England would be delighted to do? But he did not want any of them. He only wanted Elizabeth.

He still hesitated to sign the letter. Once he did that, it would be done, and he could walk away from Elizabeth Bennet. Still, there was something so final about signing his name. That would be the end of everything.

What was the matter with him? Was he the Master of Pemberley or a puling schoolboy?

I will only add, God bless you.

Fitzwilliam Darcy

He was going to be late. He sanded the letter quickly and called for his valet to help him dress for dinner.

He had written the letter and said everything he needed to say. Why did his chest still hurt, making him feel as if he could never stand up straight again? If anything, the agony was worse. The agony of not only losing the woman he loved but discovering she had never existed in the first place. The one woman he thought would understand all he had suffered and teach him to laugh again. The one woman who would make him feel as if his struggles were worth something.

Elizabeth. Ah, Elizabeth.

“ARE YOU CERTAIN YOU are well enough to go to dinner?” Charlotte asked Elizabeth as they approached Rosings.

“It is only a headache, and I would not dream of disappointing Lady Catherine over such a small matter,” said Elizabeth. There was no point in pretending nothing was bothering her. Charlotte would see through that at once.

Mr. Collins said, “An admirable sentiment, Cousin Elizabeth. Lady Catherine’s wishes must come first.”

“I cannot hope to match the depth of your regard for Lady Catherine, but I do my poor best.” She could say what she liked, since Mr. Collins would not recognize it as a barb. The man never thought of anything except Lady Catherine’s desires.

Elizabeth was determined to avoid drawing any notice to herself. She would stay in the background as much as possible and avoid looking at Mr. Darcy. She might sit with Miss de Bourgh, since Mr. Darcy rarely went near her. Besides, she felt sorry for Miss de Bourgh’s loneliness, especially since she had a good sense of the subjects that provoked that lady’s frequent fainting spells.

Thankfully Mr. Darcy was not present in Lady Catherine’s drawing room when they arrived. Relieved, Elizabeth smiled at Colonel Fitzwilliam and sat next to Charlotte, turning half an ear to Lady Catherine’s usual monologue.

“Where is Darcy?” demanded Lady Catherine. “Does he not know how I particularly detest tardiness?”

Colonel Fitzwilliam said, “He was just finishing a letter and said he would be down shortly.”

“I hope he is writing to Georgiana with my advice that she cannot expect to excel at the pianoforte if she does not practice a great deal. Anne would have been a great proficient had her health permitted her to learn.”

How could Miss de Bourgh be proficient at anything if she could barely manage to complete a sentence before being distracted by something else?

“There you are, Darcy. You are late.”

Painfully self-conscious, Elizabeth kept her eyes on the floor after her curtsy. Her anxiety grew with every breath.

“Pardon me,” said Darcy coldly. “I wished to find a particular reference in a book to show to Miss Bennet, and it took me longer than I expected.”

Elizabeth stiffened. What was he about?

“For Miss Bennet?” Lady Catherine sounded displeased. “Why would you be concerned about finding reading material for her? ”

“It is something I wish her to read. We had a minor disagreement over methods of land management. She felt her father’s methods were superior to the ones I proposed. I thought it would benefit her to learn the truth of the matter,” he said with no trace of warmth in his voice.

“You are very kind, sir,” said Elizabeth hastily without looking at him. “I am certain you know far more about the matter than I do, or than my father does, for that matter.”

“Darcy is certainly correct,” said Lady Catherine. “He is showing great condescension by pointing out your errors. Is it a long passage, Darcy?”

“Just a few pages.”

“Then she may sit over by the piano as she reads it. She will be in no one’s way there.”

A pair of shiny boots appeared on the floor by her feet, forcing Elizabeth to finally raise her eyes. Mr. Darcy’s expression was cold and disdainful as he held out a leather-bound volume to her. His fingertips were ink stained.

She took it in numb hands. “I thank you.”

“You may start on page 36.” He turned on his heel and strode over to Colonel Fitzwilliam. He could not have said more clearly that he was done with her.

She swallowed hard. At least this gave her an excuse to sit on the other side of the room. She chose the chair where her face would be hidden by an ornate statuette of a shepherdess. Why did his coldness hurt her so much?

She opened the book to the page he had indicated and found three sheets of letter paper, written quite through, in a close hand. She took a deep breath to calm herself, reminding herself of the abominable things he had said. Did he think he could offer some excuse? This letter was likely to make her even angrier than she already was.

ELIZABETH HARDLY KNEW how she had made it through the rest of that nightmarish evening. Somehow she had managed to return the book to Mr. Darcy, who merely nodded acknowledgment as he accepted it. Apparently he had already dismissed her from his acquaintance in his own mind.

She could not decide what to make of his letter. His excuses for separating Jane and Bingley seemed weak, but she kept returning to his words about the Collegium. Did he truly disagree with the Collegium view on women and magic? If so, she might not have to leave behind her family and friends to live with strangers. But what if he said it merely to lower her guard? The risk was frightening, but so was the thought of leaving her family and friends. It would be so much simpler if she could accept his assurances. She disliked many things about him, but deceptive behavior had not been one of the faults she had observed. His weak fib about wanting her to read the book had not been the work of a practiced liar.

She passed a restless night haunted by dreams of Mr. Darcy’s disdainful face and cold dislike. In the morning she walked out for the sole purpose of re-reading and brooding upon his letter and the humiliation of his words. She had always prided herself on her judgment of character, and now she knew how wanting in it she was. She was as much a fool as Lydia or Kitty. Mr. Darcy’s criticisms of her family left her spirits lower than they had been in years.

On her return to the parsonage, she discovered her walk had saved her from the mortification of meeting Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam when they called at the parsonage to say their farewells before departing the following morning. Even this fortunate timing could not relieve her oppression of spirits.

The next day, knowing that Mr. Darcy had left Rosings Park, she attempted to put on a brave face with Charlotte. She suspected her friend was not fooled, though Charlotte did not question her. She had always been good about respecting Elizabeth’s privacy.

In the early afternoon, the maid brought a piece of folded notepaper to Charlotte. A look of concern crossed her face as she read it.

“Charlotte, is something amiss?” The last thing Elizabeth needed was more trouble.

“Lady Catherine has taken ill. Mr. Darcy is requesting my presence at Rosings. I suppose her ladyship must want me to read to her.”

Her stomach seemed to turn somersaults. “Mr. Darcy? I thought he had left!”

“Apparently not yet. He asks specifically that I bring you with me.”

Elizabeth’s heart twisted in her chest. “Me? Why would he want me there?” Was it a ploy to do a binding spell after all, or only to berate her, or to show her he no longer cared for her by the cold and disdainful look on his face? You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you . And now she would have to see him again, with the shame of everything he had said in his letter fresh in her mind.

Charlotte shrugged. “Perhaps Lady Catherine wishes to listen to you play. I am sorry to impose upon you this way, but we cannot afford to offend her ladyship.”

Her dismay must be showing. “Of course I will go with you.” Somehow she would manage to keep her composure with Mr. Darcy. Somehow.

THE TINGLING SENSATION from crossing the Rosings wards only worsened Elizabeth’s queasiness. She would have to see Mr. Darcy and converse with him. Perhaps she could hide behind Charlotte and leave her to do all the speaking. That way she could concentrate on being ready to run away if he spoke even one word in Latin.

At least Darcy did not keep them waiting long, appearing in the drawing room not five minutes after the butler had showed them in. “I thank you for coming so promptly, Mrs. Collins.”

“I am happy to be of service,” said Charlotte demurely.

Darcy looked past Charlotte, his lips tightening. “Miss Elizabeth, may I speak freely in front of Mrs. Collins?” he asked abruptly.

Elizabeth inhaled sharply. What in heaven’s name was he thinking? “I have not discussed, er, recent events with her.” The disaster of Mr. Darcy’s proposal was none of Charlotte’s business.

He shook his head impatiently. “Not that. I speak of your activities in visiting the sick.”

Relief rushed through her. “Charlotte knows I do the work of a wisewoman, if that is what you mean.”

“Good. Lady Catherine’s illness appears to be otherworldly. She was found unconscious in the garden. Nothing I have attempted has had any effect.” He bit the words out, as if he hated admitting to any weakness.

Was it possible his summons had nothing to do with his offer of marriage or her magic? Elizabeth said cautiously, “If you would like me to see if there is anything I can do, I would be happy to do so. However, there are much more experienced wisewomen available.”

“No. We must keep this private.”

Elizabeth glanced at Charlotte. “Very well. Could someone be sent to the parsonage to collect my satchel? There are supplies in it I may need.”

IT WAS HARDLY SURPRISING that Miss Elizabeth hesitated just inside Lady Catherine’s bedroom. Lady Catherine lay pallid and utterly without motion, looking more dead than alive.

Elizabeth asked him, “Are you certain this is not an apoplexy?”

“It stinks of fay mischief.” He lowered himself into a chair, watching her intently as she approached Lady Catherine and felt her wrist. He should be worried about his aunt, but the sight of Elizabeth brought back too many painful memories.

Richard looked in the door questioningly. Darcy waved him inside.

Elizabeth did not seem taken aback by how Lady Catherine’s eyes stared straight up, regardless of the movement around her. She laid the back of her hand on her forehead. “No fever. This illness is different from the redcap bites I have been seeing. Charlotte, would you assist me in examining her clothing? I am looking for a small tear or cut in the fabric.”

“Elfshot?” Darcy asked harshly. Elfshot was a death sentence.

“It is too soon to say.” Elizabeth ran her fingers up and down the fabric of Lady Catherine’s dress.

“There is a small rip here,” Charlotte pointed to Lady Catherine’s forearm. “I see no blood, though.”

“Elfshot does not cause bleeding, although no one knows why.” Elizabeth hurried to the opposite side of the bed. She pressed her fingers into Lady Catherine’s arm beneath the shoulder and began to palpate her flesh. She moved her hands along her arm until her fingers halted just above the elbow.

“There,” she murmured as if to herself. Straightening, she brushed back a stray lock of her hair and looked up at Darcy. “I am sorry to say it does appear to be elfshot, but it is still in her arm, so all is not yet lost. I can attempt to remove it if you wish, but it is a difficult process which may well not succeed.”

“And if we do nothing?” asked Richard.

“The elfshot will continue its journey to her heart and kill her. ”

Richard turned to him. “Darcy? What do you think?”

Why did it have to be his decision? It was hard enough just to look at Elizabeth, much less speak to her on such matters. Darcy cleared his throat experimentally. Good; his voice still worked. “We would be most appreciative for whatever you can do.”