“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 FOREHEADin 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 Wickhamafter 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 ofeverything.
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 YOUare 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.”
