“No, no, no.” She pressed the heels of her hands against her temples. “Promise me!”
“Oh, very well. I promise.”
Her face relaxed. “What was I saying?”
DARCY HOPED NO ONEcould see him. He must look like a complete fool, plucking blades of grass from the manicured lawn like a lovesick peasant boy. It was ridiculous even to attempt this. But he had promised, and even if he had not, if there was the tiniest chance it could lead him to Elizabeth, he would happily make a fool of himself.
He stared down at the grass stems cupped in his hands. How was this supposed to be done? Was the old children’s rhyme a spell of sorts? He raised his hands in front of his face. “Elizabeth,” he whispered to the grass. “Elizabeth.” Elizabeth of the fine eyes, the light and pleasing figure, the bubbling melodious laughter. Elizabeth. “Green grass, green grass, floating in the air, Green grass, green grass, lead me to my true love fair.” He tossed the grass into the air and waited as it fluttered down, knowing full well it would fall randomly all around him.
His breath froze in his throat. The blades of grass formed a straight line starting at the toes of his boots and leading a few feet away. Towards the grove, the sheep fields, and the road to Tunbridge Wells.
He took off at a run.
The winding paths through the grove made it impossible to keep his direction precisely straight, but finally he reached the sheep field. He clambered over a tall stile and hurried across the pasture. Frightened sheep raced away at his approach.
When he reached the far side, he stopped to look back at the roof line of Rosings. Had he followed a straight line? How could he tell? He grabbed two handfuls of grass, an easier task here than in the closely trimmed lawn, whispered to it, and tossed it into the air, waiting for the blades to align in front of him.
Nothing.
Was hope to be snatched away so quickly? He slowly turned in a circle. Perhaps he simply could not see it among all the other grass. No, there it was – pointing back in the direction he had come.
Was the magic toying with him? Or was Elizabeth hidden in the grove, somewhere he had not looked, perhaps even up a tree? He retraced his steps.
He followed the path until he judged himself to be near the middle of the grove, stopping to collect grass again and throw it in the air. This time the line led off the path. He cut between trees, pushing pastsaplings and into an area of dense undergrowth that tore at his boots and the tail of his coat. It did not matter. The only thing that mattered was following a straight line.
The woods opened into a small glade. Odd; he thought he had explored every inch of the grove, but he had never seen this clearing before. Could Elizabeth be nearby?
Gather grass, whisper her name, toss. This time there was no line. The grass settled into a neat pile in the center of the glade. But if this was the correct spot, where was Elizabeth? He stood beside the pile and turned around slowly, looking up and around, trying to spot the odd bits of reflection that were the telltale signs of illusions. Nothing. He tried again, forcing himself to examine everything, trying to keep despair at bay.
“Elizabeth!” he called frantically. “Elizabeth, can you hear me? I beg you to show yourself. We have been desperately worried.”
Nothing. The green grass had been a false hope.
He sank to his knees, covering his face with his hands. The grass must have led him to a place Elizabeth loved rather than to Elizabeth herself. It had been a forlorn hope at best, but now even that small hope was gone.
No. He would not give up. Anne had been trying to tell him something; he was sure of it. He would examine every inch of this glade, no matter how long it took him. He would not fail Elizabeth again.
Sitting back on his heels, Darcy studied the hillocks of grass, woodland plants, twigs sticking up from the ground, a line of mushrooms –
A line of mushrooms. His breath caught in his throat. Yes, the line continued until it disappeared under some of last year’s fallen leaves. Carefully he brushed the leaves away. The mushrooms continued all the way around him, a circle that enclosed the greater part of the glade.
He was in the middle of a faerie ring.
He gasped for breath. How had he failed to see the answer? Elizabeth had not run off to someone’s house, nor had she harmed herself. She had gone to Faerie, the one place she knew Lord Matlock could not follow her. He could not begin to guess how she had done it, but it made perfect sense. She had taken her fay cat and gone to Faerie to see her fay friend.
Now he could feel the subtle thrum of fay spells surrounding him. There must be a way to find her. He would go through every book of magic ever written if that was what it took. And in the meantime, if he could not reach Elizabeth, at least he knew she was alive.
She was alive.
MRS. COLLINS CLAPPEDher hands to her cheeks. “She is in Faerie?”
“I believe so,” he said. “My cousin Anne suggested a spell I could use to find her, and it led me straight to a faerie ring.”
“That would explain how she could vanish without a trace, but how did she manage it? Faerie rings do not work for mortals.”
“I cannot say. Perhaps her fay friend assisted her, but that is just a guess.”
“My poor Lizzy! Will we ever see her again? Will she be able to return, or are the old stories true about men who spent a day in Faerie and return to find a hundred years had passed?”
