“Lady Catherine, I believe it is time for you to leave.”
All eyes turned to Elizabeth, who stood quietly across from the older woman. Elizabeth had caught her mid-speech, for her mouth had already opened to continue, but instead she narrowed her eyes and squinted at Elizabeth.
“I have never been thus addressed in my life!”
“You have insulted me in every possible manner,” Elizabeth said quietly. “You have come to my home, uninvited, and made accusations and statements of the foulest kind, promulgated by vicious rumors. You had been disrespectful to myself, my sisters, my mother, and Mr. Darcy, who is a dear friend of this family. I cannot fathom how your conscience could sanction such behavior, but mine cannot. You cannot possibly have anything further to say to this company, and I fear such outbursts are bad for your health. I believe it would be in your Ladyship’s best interest to leave.”
Lady Catherine stared at her, and for a moment Elizabeth was seized with the idea that the woman might strike her, but at last she broke her gaze, gathered her skirts, and prepared to depart from the room.
“Lady Catherine, one more matter,” Elizabeth called, causing the woman to pause and lift her chin haughtily. Reaching deep within herself, Elizabeth locked eyes with Lady Catherine, muttered four ancient words, and took a step closer. “You will not remember Mr. Darcy’s actions. You will go to your carriage, angry at me, with no remembrance of seeing your nephew.”
Elizabeth broke eye contact and took a step back, holding her breath. Lady Catherine blinked several times, then resumed her rigid posture.
“This conversation is not finished, Miss Bennet. I will be speaking to my nephew about this when I arrive in London,” the older woman said with a sniff, and then was gone.
The moment Lady Catherine had left, the rest of the party turned in unison to look at Mr. Darcy, who was shifting from one foot to another in front of the window, his color rising. Sensing that he was the center of attention, he turned and began striding quickly toward the door, clearly intending to leave without a word.
With a burst of anger, Elizabeth brought her hand up quickly, and the door to the sitting room swung shut with a thud, causing Mr. Darcy to flinch and jump back.
“Mr. Darcy!” she called, her voice tight as she moved toward him. “A word with you in the garden, if you would.” As she passed, she nodded at her mother, who looked so confused and overwhelmed that she was on the verge of tears, and yanked open the door she had just shut. She walked through it without looking back, daring Mr. Darcy not to follow her.
XXXV
“I am beyond humiliated, Miss Elizabeth, I do not know what came over me. I haven’t done something like that since I was a child,” Mr. Darcy exclaimed. He was pacing back and forth at the edge of the garden, his hat in one hand as he used it to gesticulate widely, the other regularly coming up to scrape through his disheveled hair.
“You do not need to apologize for that, sir,” Elizabeth told him as she sat calmly on the bench. “You lost your temper, and your magic flowed from that. It is natural and normal, and while not advised, does happen. I have worked many years to control such events — you yourself have seen the results of my own failed endeavors. Besides, I rather think it was unavoidable — do you remember my visions, when I was scrying for Lydia? I watched an angry man throw fire, and I am inclined to believe it was you.”
“Fate or no, I have worked to control and discipline myself, and I am horrified that I caused such a scene at such a time. I must apologize to your mother; it is unthinkable to have acted such in her home.”
Elizabeth let out a small laugh and shook her head.
“My mother’s greatest quality is her ability to forget and overlook unpleasant things as they suit her, sir. You may apologize, but she will not accept it.”
“She looked horrified. Do you think I frightened her?”
Elizabeth softened slightly at this unusual regard for her mother, and slid farther down the bench, indicating for him to sit in the spot next to her.
“Sir, my mother has never seen magic before. She has none in her family, and we have endeavored to keep this from her. In her own way she has known, to be sure, but in one afternoon she has seen the wealthiest man of her acquaintance throw fire and her own daughter use magic within her parlour. There will be a shock, I suppose, and then a tacit silence.”
“Your mother does not know?” Mr. Darcy asked. He took the spot on the bench next to her gingerly.
“Mr. Darcy, I did not command you here to discuss my mother. I wished to ask you about several comments Lady Catherine made,” Elizabeth said delicately. Mr. Darcy’s face flushed again, and he reached out instinctively to grasp her hands.
“I have been so distracted by my embarrassment that I have been remiss to apologize for my most grievous of offenses. I do not know why my aunt came to you, but I beg you to not take anything she said to heart. Her comments were vile and unfounded,” he said earnestly, though Elizabeth could barely hear what he said, for his thumb was gently circling her knuckle. “And I must thank you for bidding her to forget. I do not know what I would have done… you must know, surely, that she would not hesitate to ruin my sister and I with her knowledge if I continued to displease her.”
She pulled her hand away reluctantly so that she could clear her head.
“I was referring to your aunt’s allegations that you were somehow involved in my father gaining permission to unbind our land, as well as Mr. Wickham’s newfound military success,” she said quietly. “To hear your aunt tell it, you purchased Mr. Wickham’s commission and made a plea before the Midnight Parliament yourself. Pray, Mr. Darcy, tell me the truth of this matter.”
“You should not pay heed to my aunt’s words,” Mr. Darcy said quietly, his eyes pleading.
“Mr. Darcy, the truth, please. I know deception is beyond your abilities, but obstinance is not. I believe we can agree that it is time to be honest with each other, yes?”
Mr. Darcy sighed and stood again, striding to the edge of the garden then back.
“Walk with me,” he commanded, holding out his hand. Elizabeth took it lightly, and allowed him to lead her through the back gate of Longbourn, out toward the fields and the path to Oakham Mount.
“I am not properly dressed for walking, nor the weather,” Elizabeth chided him softly once they were some distance from Longbourn. Mr. Darcy had not dropped her hand, but rather had tucked it up inside the crook of his arm and held it with his other hand.
“That has never stopped you before,” he said wryly. There was a long moment of silence before he exhaled and turned to her.
“My aunt was correct; I did petition on your father’s behalf to have your land unbound.”
“And Lydia?”
“When I found them in Portsmouth, they were posing as married, but did not have the funds to actually complete the ceremony. My understanding was that they wished to speak to someone within the higher military ranks in order to offer up Miss Lydia’s magic as a service, but Wickham was repeatedly denied audiences with anyone who might be interested.”
“They were not married?” Elizabeth cried, her hands going to her mouth. Mr. Darcy shook his head glumly.
“You must understand, I spoke with your sister at length and my first endeavour was to try to convince her to return home without Wickham, but she refused. I considered writing of the situation to your father, but given what I overheard at Pemberley, I was unsure whether he would feel compelled to help,” Mr. Darcy said, his voice tight with anger. “Her devotion to Wickham was total, though I do not know why. In the end, I judged it to be better for her wellbeing to help them wed, and quickly.”
“And the commission?”
Mr. Darcy looked away and cleared his throat.
“I had enlisted my cousin’s help in locating them, and my plan had been to find some employment or position for Wickham. But my cousin, I’m afraid, fell prey to your sister’s foolhardy plan, and grew quite intrigued by it. He was th
e one who offered assistance in gaining her an opportunity to petition her case, though I argued strongly against it.”
“Tell me how it happened, for I hardly understand it,” Elizabeth commanded. They had reached the base of Oakham Mount now and had paused.
“There are very few witches working with the war office, you must understand. Most of them are not British, because it’s very difficult to find English witches with enough power and willingness to serve. There are a handful of men who provide this service, and no women — at least not in our forces. But Napoleon has dozens of French witches fighting for him, and these women have struck fear into the hearts of our men. They are wild, untamed things.”
“That sounds just like Lydia,” Elizabeth mused. Mr. Darcy let out a small laugh, but shook his head.
“Your sister is refined and genteel by any comparison, from my understanding. My cousin saw the appeal of having a powerful gentlewoman working for them, as there are hopes that other witches may be willing to help with healing, and having someone to pave the way may make it more acceptable. Using his connections, he and Lydia petitioned the government, and after very little persuasion, she was drafted.”
“That easily?” Elizabeth asked. Mr. Darcy nodded grimly.
“Fitzwilliam did not elaborate, but I understand she wove some form of wind magic so fierce that she burst all the windows in the building.”
“But what of Wickham’s role? Why was he promoted?”
“That was my suggestion, I’m afraid. The War Office wished to simply employ Mrs. Wickham and pay her directly. I felt this was an ill-advised decision, as her position would be immediately known, and your family would be exposed,” he said quietly. “I offered to buy Wickham’s commission, and asked that they pay him for the ‘special services’ your sister provides. His title is mostly a sham, to be honest, but it’s a last effort to provide some protection of the truth. He will act mostly as Mrs. Wickham’s guard and keeper, though from what I have seen she largely keeps him.”
“So Mr. Wickham is to benefit and be credited with my sister’s successes,” Elizabeth said bitterly. “Does she have any form of protection or assurance that he will not beggar them with her money?”
“Trust me, I do not think even Wickham is stupid enough to ruin this situation. Though if he does, your sister will be provided and well cared for. She is extremely impressive, even I must admit,” Mr. Darcy said quietly.
“Is she happy?” Elizabeth said with a frown, worry tinging her voice. “Her letters have been so vague and unclear, and we have had a difficult time discerning the truth of the matter. She says none of this when she writes to mama, but we cannot tell if she is faking cheerfulness.”
“She seemed quite content when I last saw her. She has a small circle of friends in Portsmouth — mostly naval wives and women of the town — but Wickham’s mysterious position affords her enough distinction among her peers to feel properly unique, and I believe that makes her happy,” Mr. Darcy responded. “She seems to be quite taken with her work, and has applied herself rigorously. My understanding is that they are to go to France soon, but I do not know when, and she is quite excited to be placed more directly in the action.”
“You have such an understanding of my sister, Mr. Darcy,” Elizabeth marveled at him. They had begun walking again, and she stooped down to run her fingers through the tall lavender that was shooting up almost past her knee. “I could not imagine you would care so much for her wellbeing.”
Mr. Darcy had no answer to this, and instead turned and stared back toward Longbourn.
“Why?” she asked him softly, coming to stand next to him. She could feel his presence at her side even though they did not touch. His magic was still on him, rolling off of him gently, flooding into her body and sending waves of warmth through her fingers. “Why did you do this all? You owed me nothing for healing Georgiana; indeed, my debt has hardly been paid. Why do so much?”
They had crested the top of Oakham Mount now, and she moved toward a tree and sat beneath it, almost disappearing in the tall grass. Mr. Darcy stood some distance away from her and watched her quietly. He was silent so long that she began to worry he had not heard her, and she considered asking her question again when he turned his back to her and spoke.
"I thought I loved you," he said suddenly. Elizabeth looked up at him, her eyes wide in terror as she tried to comprehend his words. They had spoken so frankly, and his actions were so clear that she had been sure he still loved her. Until this moment, she did not realize how confidently she had carried this knowledge with her, how much she depended on this truth. But now she felt her confidence slipping, and doubt began to eat at her.
"I fought against it for so long, denied it. You must understand, it appeared on me so suddenly. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun," he continued. "I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. But I believed it to be born of understanding, compassion, a similarity of mind. These, I came to believe, had led me to find such a strong love. But I cannot call what I felt then love."
Elizabeth turned her eyes away from him, unable to look at him any longer and allow her face to betray her. How could he say such things?
There was a moment of silence, and then Elizabeth felt his finger on her cheek, gently urging her to turn back to him, but she resisted.
"I could not call that love, because I now know what love feels like — and what I felt before was but a shadow of this, Elizabeth. Now, for the first time, I understand a true love. It is not set upon you by surprise one night at a ball; it is built brick-by-brick through trial, tears, laughter, and friendship. It is forged in the fires of hardship. You cannot claim such a love without knowing your partner, without seeing them at their lowest, loving them through it, and coming to understand their true nature. I was a fool before, to think my feelings then and my feelings now could be described by the same word."
He was kneeling before her, his eyes on her level as he grasped her hand in his and allowed his thumb to slowly rub circles over her own, sending small thrills up her arm.
"I love you, Elizabeth. Entirely, willingly, joyfully. You have bewitched me, through no magic or artifice, and I have thought of no other but you for many months. Though I fought against my feelings, in one aspect I was correct when I came to you at Hunsford: I am a man bewitched. You need use no artifice or enchantments to draw me to you, for the spell is already set by your eyes and your laugh and your lips, and I am a man happy to live ensnared."
Elizabeth felt as though her heart had begun to beat so fast it would burst, and her throat was so tight no words could come.
“Why did you never tell me you had magic?”
Mr. Darcy sat back slightly, surprised by the question. It was clearly not what he had expected.
“Because I am a fool, an arrogant fool who thought I could deny who I am. I thought that if I ignored it, it would go away, but of course it wouldn’t. You saw me in your parlour — it was only a matter of time. I was taught by my mother that magic was vulgar, unrefined, and unnatural. Even as my father used it, she looked down on it, and I came to believe that I was superior for spurning it — that I was forward thinking.”
“Your father did not teach you?” Elizabeth asked. Mr. Darcy’s brow furrowed, and he looked away in annoyance before turning back to her.
“Elizabeth, I will answer any question you have. I will spend my life answering your questions, but please, I beg you, let us put this aside. Do you have nothing to say to me? Nothing to respond?” He shifted his position so he was beside her now instead of in front of her, and he took her hands with both of his.
His eyes were so unsure, so hesitant, and Elizabeth wished to reach up and touch his hand, to stroke it back and sooth him, but she refrained.
“What could I have to say that you do not know?” she whispered. “You already know all my secrets.”
“All but one,” he responded, leaning closer
to her. “I have told you of my love twice now, but you have told me nothing of how you feel.”
“Surely you know,” she murmured.
“Tell me,” he whispered back. He turned her hand over in his and traced the fine line of the scar that cut across her palm, then brought it to his lips and kissed it. “Tell me what you tried to cut out that night. Tell me you did not succeed.”
“You know I didn’t.” Her words were breathless, his face so very close to hers.
“Tell me,” he asked again.
“I loved you, terribly and frightfully. I tried to rip it from my, chest but it would not go; my heart had found its home, and I had lost the ability to command it,” she breathed.
“Do you love me still?” he asked, closing the space between them so his lips hovered just a breath away from her own, and she felt as though she could not speak.
“You know that I do, for my heart resides within your chest now,” she responded, every inch of her screaming for him to close the distance.
An Unnatural Inheritance: A Pride and Prejudice Variation Page 35