“Not after the first sip, that I recall. She mentioned that your kitchen woman must have felt creative. That was after I complimented her on the fare.”
“This is most unlike him, Miss Elizabeth,” Darcy said. “I have never known Bingley to behave ungracefully towards a gentlewoman, and he is not a man to toy with people’s feelings.”
She gave him a sharp look, and Darcy held her gaze. Elizabeth then marched towards Bingley, muttered something that sounded like an insincere apology, and grabbed the man’s face, squeezing his cheeks until he opened his mouth like a fish.
Darcy blinked. “May one inquire, Miss Elizabeth?”
She lowered her head and sniffed Bingley’s open mouth.
“Have you gone quite mad?”
Elizabeth straightened and turned towards him, unperturbed by his mild tone. “It’s the spicy herbal flavour that makes me suspicious. One might assume the juice was a cider, but we have none at the moment, and if I ask my cook, I am certain she will say the freshly pressed juice came from the man in town. We do not make our own.”
Darcy looked at Bingley, eyes narrowing, then sighed and walked forward. “Open up, Bingley. Let me get a whiff of your breath.”
“This is very irregular,” his friend said.
Darcy sniffed, no longer than necessary as he was well aware how ridiculous he looked, and straightened. “What are you thinking, Miss Elizabeth?”
“The symptoms he describes along with the flavour he tasted—and my agreement regarding your assessment of his character, for it is my own and I would be loathe to think I am an ill judge—leads me to believe the juice was herb-witched. It is not spice he tastes, but that is how he would describe that combination of herbs if unfamiliar with them. Did Lydia drink it?”
“She did,” Bingley said.
“But Jane did not.” Elizabeth frowned. “If it is what I think it is, it may not have affected Lydia at all because she has dosed herself with it liberally in the past.”
“What kind of herb witchery?” Darcy asked.
“A simple incantation, infused in the tea leaves and carried into the blood by the juice. It is designed to provoke a person to mischief, though it does not work on inclinations that are not already present. It also produces euphoria.”
Bingley cringed. “Miss Lydia is a merry fellow—ah, gentlewoman—to be sure, and had I not met my sweet angel first, but I did and she is the most veritable angel in the heavens. I would never. . . .”
Elizabeth held up a hand. “I do not entirely blame you. Lydia has turned the heads of many men far less silly than you, and this incantation is designed to amplify what we normally would never act on or are even aware of within ourselves.”
“How do you know of it?” Darcy asked.
She grimaced. “Because I wrote the incantation and developed the blend of herbs that act as its carrier. I recognised the scent as soon as I entered the room. There is only one woman that I know of who has mastered my personal spellbook as I have.”
Darcy instructed Bingley’s butler to see his master to his rooms. There was nothing to be done now except wait for him to sweat the spell out though his skin.
“It is not meant to last more than a day,” Elizabeth said after Bingley was taken away. “He will recover. I will bid you good day and take the news to my sister.”
“One moment,” Darcy said, voice sharpening.
She stopped, shoulders stiff, and turned, head held as high as any queen. “Sir?”
He ignored her chilly tone and walked towards her. “You said there is only one woman who has mastered your spellbook.” And he would like to see Miss Elizabeth’s spellbook. Most ladies kept incantations for simple things. Removing dirt from one’s gown or freshening one’s complexion. Georgiana kept a simple book of such homey spells at hand wherever she went. Of course she also possessed the book handed down from their mother of much more potent fare.
“I did, indeed, say that. And I will bid you good day, sir—” She curtsied and attempted to spin around.
Attempted only because he halted her with a hand around her arm. Darcy did not enjoy manhandling any woman, but Elizabeth would not be allowed to flee him without an explanation.
“Miss Elizabeth.”
She faced him. “Your Highness. If you will unhand me.”
“Who, Elizabeth?”
He would wait all day if need be. Calculation in the back of her eyes warned him she might attempt to lie, but then she said, “Mary. My sister.”
It was not what he had expected to hear. “Your sister Mary? But why?”
Her mouth thinned. “If you will allow me to leave, sir, I intend to find out.”
“No.”
“Excuse me.”
“Allow it to play out. Now that we know he was under attack, we can take measures. If you confront her, she will simply deny it—”
“You don’t know Mary. She will deny nothing.” Elizabeth paused. “But there may be wisdom in what you say. If she believes him under enchantment, for whatever her reason was, then that will protect him from further mischief until I can get to the bottom of it.”
“Do you have any suspicions?”
Her eyes narrowed. “Some. I will tell you when I may.”
He sensed an undercurrent of emotion in her. “Miss Elizabeth, when you come from a family such as mine, you often must deal with treachery among one’s family and vassals. If you handle it with wisdom, it will not weaken your position or break the bond of blood between you.”
She stared at him, expression flinty. “There can be no good reason why she would sabotage Jane’s chance at a happy marriage. No reason I would accept.”
“Forgive, but do not forget. There will be other battles, and one day you might need all the allies you can muster.”
Suddenly, she smiled. “I am a simple country miss, Your Highness. I doubt I will ever war with anyone more lofty than the baker over the price of day-old bread.”
“I do not think, Elizabeth, that haggling over the price of stale bread will be your destiny.”
Her smiled faded. The weight of his statement cloaked Darcy, some prescient flash of knowledge undergirding his words.
Almost of its own volition, his hand rose, fingers brushing the line of her jaw. Had Bingley said he had felt outside himself, watching from a distance, mind clouded? Darcy felt each moment keenly, the very air charged with unspoken meaning.
Lowering his head, not questioning his instincts or his motives, his lips touched hers gently. Once, then twice. A chaste kiss, nearly brotherly. But he struggled to pull away. Struggled not to pull her into his arms and claim her mouth.
She did not speak, barely seemed to breathe. Darcy took a slow step back, mentally coating his loins in ice.
“Your Highness.” Elizabeth curtsied, gaze unflinching, then turned and left the room, footsteps silent, carriage flawless.
“Elizabeth,” he said softly into the air.
Chapter Seventeen
“I know that spell, Lizzy,” Jane said. She brushed her hair listlessly. “I remember why you crafted it—to help reveal hidden motivations in gentleman callers. They would speak the truth, and behave as their instincts bade them rather than what polite manner dictated, showing their true colours.”
Elizabeth sat on the bed and reached for Jane’s hand. “He was quite distraught, Jane. Nearly sick with it. Tell me exactly how he flirted with Lydia.”
“It was nothing grossly untoward, just so shocking because he has never paid her any attention before. I tried to engage him in conversation but he wanted nothing of it. He and Lydia laughed and laughed at her little jokes and the silly stories she tells. He was so animated.”
“Jane, Bingley is an animated man. He never stops talking, he dances with any lady who bats her lashes, he has a kind word to say for every soul.”
“But. . .Lydia.”
“Remember that odious toad who tried to kiss you in the drawing room two years ago? And the so-called gentleman who asked me t
o be his mistress? Both after they had my special tea.”
Jane’s lips curled up, blue eyes slightly more predatory than normal. “I recall.”
“Well, did Bingley try to kiss Lydia or take her hand? Did he do anything other than show he enjoys lively discourse as much as he enjoys your more soothing presence? My dear, he is a bit of a rabble-rouser. Watching him tour a ballroom makes me positively tired.”
“If he prefers a more outgoing sort of woman, then he should court her.” Jane resumed brushing her hair, but the listlessness was gone, replaced by small, sharp movements.
Elizabeth hid a smile. She had spoken with Lydia before coming to Jane and determined Lydia’s view of the outing. And while Bingley had been unusually gregarious, attentive and engaging, he had not shown romantic interest. Lydia called everything flirting, even other young women seeking out her attention were flirts. It was hard to blame any young man for being drawn to Lydia’s energy, and if they were honest, Bingley could match their younger sister for fire, he just seemed to prefer Jane.
Jane shifting from despair to irritation bode well. She would forgive Bingley soon enough—after the requisite grovelling.
“If after that brew the worst we discovered about him is that he will get along well with his sister-in-law, then we should consider ourselves lucky. He is not a drunk, nor a rake.”
Jane sniffed.
“Think about it, dear? I truly believe he cares for you. But don’t let him off too easy, hmm?”
Jane set the brush down and sighed. “I will think on it.” Proving that Jane Bennet was just as stubborn in her own way as Elizabeth. Jane was a Bennet after all.
Elizabeth padded down creaking stairs to the kitchen. As she passed Adelaide’s door, the soft sounds of bed sheets rustling proclaimed her stepmother still awake. A candle burned from beneath Mary’s door. Up reading, no doubt. She would need to confront Mary, but first she must have some proof.
Descending to the kitchen after pausing to light a candle, Elizabeth headed to the larder. Standing on her tiptoes, she pulled down one of her many wicker baskets, this one stuffed with old rags used for cleaning. At the bottom of the basket was a book of herbal remedies, incantations for charms, and stronger spells. All painstakingly crafted over the years by Elizabeth herself.
She took out the book and set the basket down, placing the candle on the shelf while she opened the pages, looking for the recipe for the will-inhibiting concoction. That one had taken her months, and the aid of a herbwitch with an actual spark of power in her blood, to bring to life.
Reading through the spell, she refamiliarized herself with the ingredients, certain it was indeed the spell used on Bingley, put the book down and rifled through yet another basket. This one contained a myriad of little paper packets labeled only by icons she had devised herself to correspond to each page in her book.
Opening the packet correlating to the spell, she stared, trying to decide if the herbal blend was at the same level as when she had last used it. It had been some time, perhaps even a full year. Had the packet been one third full, or only a half?
Creaking alerted Elizabeth to another presence. She put the items away and left the larder with the candle in her hand.
“Adelaide,” she said, surprised.
“You went to Netherfield today.” Her stepmother wore a dressing gown of deep burgundy velvet, her hair tumbling around her shoulders in messy waves. Her usual touch of cosmetics was wiped clean from her face, leaving her complexion bare. In the candlelight, she appeared ten years older than her true age.
“I did.”
“Did you go to see Mr Williams?”
“You do not know?” Elizabeth placed the candle on the working table and sat on the bench. “Jane and Bingley had a row. I went to mediate.”
“There is something else.” Adelaide’s voice accused her. “My daughters will not tell me. But I think I know. You have seen quite a bit of Mr Williams. He calls upon you as often as Bingley on Jane. You swore to find my daughters husbands and instead you seduce one for yourself.”
“We have discussed this, stepmother.” She was tired. Very tired.
“I have seen no effort on your part. I am of a mind to extract a blood vow from you. You will capture the fish for your supper and leave my daughters starving.”
“Oh, for the love of. . .” Elizabeth stood. “I refuse to listen to any of this.”
She walked past Adelaide, but her stepmother’s thin fingers grabbed her shoulder, pinching into her skin and dragging her to a halt.
“You will listen.”
Elizabeth shook her off. “Do not touch me.”
Adelaide took a step back and reached inside her dressing gown, withdrawing a tarnished bronze pin, the tip dull. Elizabeth stared at it.
“You cannot be serious.”
Adelaide placed the tip of the pin against the flesh of her index finger. “You will swear a blood oath to see my daughters advantageously wed or I will do everything in my power to—”
“Don’t say it. Do not say it, Adelaide, I am warning you. Blood oaths are nothing to toy with!”
Triumph lent a mad glitter to Adelaide’s eyes.
“What is all the noise?” Mary asked behind her. Elizabeth stiffened, but did not turn; she had not heard Mary’s approach. “This is the only time of day I am able to read in peace and silence, and here I am interrupted by the screeching of harpies in the kitchen.” Mary spoke with unusual sharpness and stepped around Elizabeth. “Mother, what are you doing?”
“She believes I am plotting against her,” Elizabeth said. “I gave her my word I would see the three of you wed, but she believes I have changed my mind and am trying to land a rich husband for myself.”
Mary made a noise. “Which would be the intelligent thing to do. Mother, you are distraught.” Her voice dipped into a low, sonorous croon. “You should return to bed. Give me the needle.”
Adelaide blinked and handed her youngest daughter the needle.
“Good. Now go to bed. I will bring you a hot toddy in a moment.”
Elizabeth waited in silence as her stepmother left the kitchen. Mary. . .when had she grown in such power?
Her younger sister turned to her. “Why do you bait her, Elizabeth?”
“What?”
“You know she is not emotionally stable. You bait her, are careless of her feelings.”
“I am careless of her feelings?”
“Yes,” was the cold reply.
“Your mother would see Jane and I tossed out in just our nightgowns if she had her way!”
“That is not true, and you know it. Or maybe you do not. Think about the problems of someone besides yourself for a change. Mother was an orphan. She wed father and for once had a home, and then Collins comes along and has the power to strip it all away. The stress of providing for our futures is creating a disbalance in her mind. And you deliberately aggravate it.”
“I do no such thing. And you are silly if you believe your mother some frail orphan girl. She is as tough as old boots and has the ambition of a second son.”
Mary shook her head. “Some things you see so clearly. And others it is like there is a beam in thine eye. Be careful with mother, Elizabeth, or I shall have to take steps to protect her.”
Mary moved past her and Elizabeth whirled, following her into the hallway. “What steps, Mary? Like enspelling Bingley against Jane? I know it was you.”
Her sister did not stop walking. “Go to bed, Elizabeth. You are tired as well. Living your life through Jane is exhausting work.”
Chapter Eighteen
“For a woman who has fought so hard for a man, you let him go far too easily,” Adelaide said, disdain and disapproval mingling in her voice. “A waste of an opportunity when I could have had him for one of your younger sisters.”
This time Elizabeth did not jump to Jane’s defense. It suited her purpose to allow Adelaide to speak the criticism aloud. Elizabeth, too, was becoming vexed with Jane. She refused to r
espond to Bingley’s pleading letters with more than brief, polite notes.
“Really, Jane,” Lydia said. “Men will always flirt with other women. You had rather he flirt with your own sister, if you were clever.”
Lydia’s initial ire over Bingley’s attention to her the other week morphed over the days into amusement at watching the chase between he and Jane. Jane, with a display of unusual pride, was unbending slowly, if at all.
“He will soon turn his attentions to another woman,” Kitty said with a sniff. “At the party tonight, you would do well to smile and bat your lashes.”
“Come, girls,” Adelaide said, pausing in her fussing over the shawl draped over her arms to look critically at her three daughters. “Remember tonight is another opportunity to shine. We must find your husbands, none of you is getting any younger.”
They had persuaded Aunt Phillips to host an evening gathering to give Jane and Bingley an opportunity to meet again. Since Jane refused to see him when he called, Elizabeth contrived by other means to push her sister back together with her beau. And there were other reasons, of course.
Tonight several men from the regiment were invited as well, along with Wickham. It would be an opportunity to put Darcy’s plan into motion. No, not Darcy. She must think of him as Mr Williams. She had almost slipped twice and called him by his real name, and that would not do. He still had not told her the consequences of breaking the oath, and she must be more careful.
They arrived and entered Aunt Phillips’ apartments. Mr Collins was already present, since he had had business in town earlier that evening. Thank god for small favours. Shut up in a carriage with him for even so short a trip was never Elizabeth’s idea of a merry time.
“My dear nieces,” Aunt Phillips exclaimed, kissing Elizabeth and her sisters’ cheeks. “Adelaide.”
“My dear sister,” their stepmother said.
A gaggle of red coats claimed Lydia and Kitty straight away. Elizabeth searched the crowd for Bingley, knowing wherever the golden-haired man was Mr Williams would not be far, and for once she had greater matters to tend to than monitoring her adult sisters’ behaviour.
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