“You should be relieved I refused you, then, since you have noidea how low my connections go. I can help a boy who is attacked by redcaps because for years I served as the assistant to a wisewoman, or as you would say, a hedge witch, a crone whose father was nothing more than a tenant farmer. She was going blind and could not do her work without someone who could see fay and their traces, and I was the only one she could find. And I admire her, even though she is far beneath me in birth. Now you see why I cannot marry a mage, a man who would imprison her with a binding spell merely because she is female. You should be grateful for my refusal. You are the last man in the world I could be prevailed upon to marry.”
Each of her words hit him like a dagger. That she should think so ill of him! There was nothing to do for it but to retreat and hope that someday this agonizing emptiness would fade. “You do not know me at all. Pray forgive me for having taken so much of your time.” He turned and strode away, his shoulders stiff.
Chapter 2
Elizabeth 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 finallyallowed 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 castglamour, but I suspect he may be one of them.”
