Chapter Three

The servants had removed Elizabeth’s father to a small parlor, and the local healer, Mr. Mayne, had immediately started a healing spell. She could sense the etheric flow that Mr. Mayne drew upon to bathe the wound in healing energy. Her father shifted uneasily on the fainting couch, conscious but apparently experiencing some pain.

It had been blessedly quiet in the sickroom…and then the rest of the Bennet family arrived. Her mother’s voice echoed through the halls long before she entered the room. “Goblins at balls! What shall we do now? I don’t know when my nerves have ever been in such an agitated state! I experience such flutterings in my chest!” Jane murmured reassuring words, but her mother continued to exclaim. As they entered the parlor, her mother was leaning heavily on Jane’s arm. “We all could have been murdered—eaten! Right there on the dance floor. What is the world coming to?”

And then Mrs. Bennet laid eyes on her husband. “Oh! Mr. Bennet! I knew it!” she shrieked. “I knew you would attempt to fight the goblin!”

Her husband winced at something Mr. Mayne did. “I made no attempt to fight him, my dear. He simply thought I would make a tasty morsel.”

“You were bitten?” Mrs. Bennet cried. “Oh, my nerves!” She collapsed in a heap of petticoats just inside the doorway.

Elizabeth’s father groaned. “You are not in danger of being tossed into the hedgerows yet, Fanny.” Elizabeth could hear the pain in his voice. “Jane, would you find a chair for your mother? And, Mary, perhaps a vinaigrette?”

Jane lowered their mother into a chair in the furthest corner from their father while Mary pulled a vinaigrette from her reticule. Kitty and Lydia did not enter the room, preferring to gossip in the hallway with anyone who passed by. For a brief moment all was calm as Mr. Mayne turned his attention to healing their father’s thigh wound.

Then Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy appeared at the door. Elizabeth suppressed a groan. She was exhausted and had no energy to handle Mr. Darcy’s skepticism. “Bingley took a blow to the head,” he said to Mr. Mayne. “I would appreciate it if you would examine him when you are finished with Mr. Bennet.”

“Certainly,” Mr. Mayne said. “Please have a seat.” The two men arranged themselves on one of the room’s settees.

Not one to let her husband’s grave injury interfere with promising marital prospects, Mrs. Bennet was immediately on her feet, welcoming Mr. Bingley to the sickroom as if it were her own home. But Jane regarded Mr. Bingley with great concern. “Oh no! Have you been injured?”

“A trifling blow to the head. Darcy is just being cautious,” he assured her. “Are you unharmed?” He peered at her anxiously.

Jane blushed. “Quite well. I-I remained in the ballroom where it was safe.”

“I would hardly say ‘safe’!” their mother declared. “Why, the goblin could have attacked at any moment. We were all terrified for our lives!”

“Mama,” Elizabeth said. “The goblin never went near the ballroom. The paladins made sure of that.”

Their mother turned admiring eyes on Mr. Bingley. “You are such a hero!” she gushed. “Fighting a goblin! I don’t know what we would have done if you had not been here!”

Now Mr. Bingley blushed. “I played a small part. Mr. Darcy actually slew the creature, and we profited from Miss Elizabeth’s help as well.”

Mrs. Bennet whirled on her second-eldest daughter. “You fought the goblin?” She would have been less horrified if Elizabeth had shot the king.

“Yes, Mama. I just—”

“In front of everyone? Out in the open?”

“Yes, but it was magic. Not murder.”

“You should leave such things to real mages.”

Elizabeth struggled not to let her exasperation show. “It was a rather large goblin.”

Her mother drew herself up to her full height. “I do not care what size it was, you should have fainted. That is what well-bred young ladies do.”

“Miss Elizabeth’s help was to our advantage as we faced the goblin,” Mr. Darcy said as though it pained him to admit it.

Mary cleared her throat. Oh no. Elizabeth knew what was coming. “Actually, the creatures we call goblins come from several different species that all inhabit one world. Hobgoblins and hogboons are true goblins. But kobolds and tengu are their own species. And trow are more closely related to trolls. In Britain we use goblin as a broad term, but it is not accurate. In Italy they call them—”

“Thank you, Mary,” Elizabeth said. “I am certain that the paladins knew that already.”

“How did you develop such an advanced spell?” Mr. Darcy asked Elizabeth hastily, apparently to forestall additional lecturing.

Elizabeth ignored her mother’s glare. “My father taught me basic magical principles.”

“I had no sons, you see,” her father said jovially from the fainting couch where Mr. Mayne was bandaging his leg. “I needed to teach someone all that I had learned.” He did not mean anything by the joke, but it still rankled.

Intent upon controlling the discourse, Elizabeth’s mother spoke to Mr. Bingley. “Jane is exceedingly appreciative of your efforts to keep her safe,” she said. As if Mr. Bingley had no thought in his head other than protecting Jane. Elizabeth was tempted to laugh. “Of course, Jane does not possess an ounce of magical ability beyond ordinary household magic.” She shot Elizabeth a sidelong glance.

“I was pleased to be of service,” Mr. Bingley said.

Mr. Darcy regarded Elizabeth with great intensity. “I did not know you are a spell crafter,” he said. As if I should have reported that to the Convocation? Elizabeth said nothing in response. “How many spells have you created?”

“I have never counted,” she replied.

“Are they all modifications of existing spells, or do you create some whole cloth—”

An elegantly dressed woman in a turban appeared in the doorway, interrupting Mr. Darcy without any regard for the ongoing conversation. “Fitzwilliam, I am a little faint after all this excitement. Could you order the carriage?”

Mr. Darcy may have grimaced, but perhaps it was a trick of the light. “Certainly, in a moment. Miss Bingley, I would like to introduce you to the Bennet family.” He gestured to each person in turn. “Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. Miss Jane Bennet. Miss Elizabeth Bennet. And Miss Mary Bennet.” The ladies bobbed curtsies to each other. Miss Bingley took in the bloodstains and torn hem on Elizabeth’s dress with a disdainful sneer.

“Miss Bingley,” Mr. Darcy announced to the Bennets, “is Mr. Bingley’s sister.” After a brief silence, Miss Bingley cleared her throat loudly. “She is also my betrothed,” he added hastily.

“Oh, how lovely!” Elizabeth’s mother exclaimed. “When will the wedding be?”

Miss Bingley shot a baleful glance at Mr. Darcy while he stared at the opposite wall. “We have not yet fixed a date.”

As Miss Bingley complained about the inconveniences of goblin attacks, Elizabeth marveled at her. Mr. Darcy was planning to marry that woman—with her expression of perpetual disapproval? Why?

The paladin was quite handsome, with broad shoulders and a shock of inky black hair that fell over his forehead. His fortune and the standing of his family would mean that many women would be happy to wed him. Why had he settled for a woman who appeared to eat lemons for lunch?

Upon reflection, however, Elizabeth considered that perhaps it would be an agreeable match. She imagined them inhabiting stiff-backed chairs in a well-appointed drawing room as they disapproved of their shared acquaintances.

“Miss Elizabeth helped us fight the goblin,” Mr. Bingley informed his sister.

Miss Bingley’s head turned slowly toward Elizabeth. “Extraordinary. I cannot imagine what would possess a lady to partake in such a dangerous and unsavory activity.”

Elizabeth found her face heating, but she still met the other woman’s gaze. “Imminent death is a great motivator.”

Miss Bingley pursed her lips, clearly believing that discussions of death did not belong in a sickroom. “Assisting paladins with fighting a goblin? How singular.”

“Her assistance was very beneficial,” Mr. Bingley said stoutly. Elizabeth decided on the spot that he was worthy of courting her sister.

Miss Bingley rolled her eyes, but then Jane loudly inquired of Mr. Bingley what he thought of Hertfordshire weather and they launched into a falsely animated discussion that forestalled other unpleasantness.

Soon Mr. Mayne pronounced her father well enough to return home. Elizabeth had never been so pleased to quit a room.

***

The next day, Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy appeared at Longbourn to inquire about her father’s health. Elizabeth was pleased to report that he was recovering, although the healer desired him to rest in bed. Upon hearing this news, Mr. Bingley immediately invited Jane for a walk. Elizabeth volunteered to accompany them as did Mr. Darcy; she managed not to groan audibly. Since the weather continued warm, Jane suggested a walk through Longbourn’s extensive gardens, her father’s pride and joy.

Conversation with Mr. Darcy was likely to be torturous, but Elizabeth’s father always said good breeding meant that “you must learn to be polite to all manner of vexing people.” In that spirit, she attempted to regard the walk as an opportunity to practice those skills.

Naturally Mr. Bingley and Jane dawdled near the entrance to the garden, engrossed in their discourse, leaving Elizabeth to walk with Mr. Darcy. They started on the central path which was slightly wider than the others and ran through the entire garden. Almost immediately a garden gnome, two feet tall with a long beard, crossed their path, darting out of a shrub on one side and diving into some ornamental grasses on the other. Elizabeth was certain that the garden gnomes on Mr. Darcy’s estate were better behaved. She cleared her throat. “We have found that our local gnomes are not particularly interested in people—just plants.”

He appeared a bit bemused. “I believe that is the way of all garden gnomes.” Elizabeth sighed. Two minutes into the walk and already I am a fool. Indeed he is a talented man.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, passing the pond and trellises draped with vines. Elizabeth was curious to learn what he would say about the most interesting part of the garden. Finally, Mr. Darcy cleared his throat. “Miss Bennet, what you are doing is dangerous.”

Elizabeth glanced down at her feet. “Do you fear I will step in a hole?”

His lips twitched. “Throwing yourself into a battle with a goblin is fraught with peril.”

“You did so,” she pointed out.

He scowled. “I have been trained to fight goblins. You have not. Not to mention that performing major spells without proper training can be hazardous to you and the people around you.”

“I have been trained by my father, who is an accomplished mage. Many mages are trained at home.”

Mr. Darcy took a deep breath before replying. “It is exceedingly rare for truly accomplished mages to be entirely educated at home.”

Elizabeth gave him a pert smile. “Are you saying I am accomplished? I thank you, sir.”

He sighed explosively at her teasing. “For your own safety, you should not be performing major spells, particularly not spells of your own devising. They could be unstable and unreliable.”

Elizabeth attempted not to grind her teeth. “I assure you, sir, that I test all of my spells very carefully. I have never harmed another person.”

“I understand, but—” Mr. Darcy gasped. “Is that a…palm tree?”

Pleased with the distraction, Elizabeth drew him closer to the tree. “Most people do not even recognize it.”

“I saw one in a greenhouse once,” the paladin said faintly as he examined it. No doubt he could distinguish the subtle sheen of ether enshrouding the tree like a dome. “I know you can grow them in Cornwall, but I never expected to see one in Hertfordshire…This spell keeps the tree in a temperate climate year-round?”

“Yes.”

“Ingenious!” Elizabeth flushed with pleasure as she started to gesture toward other plants she protected in this way.

“Does your father protect many plants?” Elizabeth’s pleasure vanished.

“The plants are my father’s,” she said. “But I developed and cast the conservation spell.”

Mr. Darcy blinked at her as if she had spoken in Swedish. “You…invented this spell?”

“I actually combined elements of two spells that my mother knew which were designed to encourage growing healthy flowers…”

He regarded her as one might a dancing dog. “How long have you been doing this?”

“Hmmm….about three years.” The man’s eyebrows shot upward. “I assure you that during that time, none of the plants have exploded or eaten unwary visitors.”

He made no reaction to her joke. “You have been fortunate; many things can go wrong with a new spell.”

She rolled her eyes. “Do you say the same things to male spell crafters?”

He opened his mouth and then closed it. “Will you show me the other plants? This is truly a remarkable collection.”

She guided him around that section of the garden, which contained a wide assortment of exotic tropical plants, each protected by its own etheric dome. Darcy said little but admired each plant in great detail.

As they paused to appreciate a rare orchid, he observed, “Miss Elizabeth, your command of magic is…unusual.” He made “unusual” sound like a noxious disease. When she did not reply, he continued. “I find I am curious how it came about.”

She shrugged. “The usual way, I suppose.”

“The usual way is for a talented mage to be tested and sent to Eton—and then to Oxford for the Academy of Magic program.”

“As you know, Oxford was not available to me.”

“What would you have the university do?” he asked sharply. “It would be indecent and dangerous for a woman to live and study among men.”

“How unfortunate that Oxford does not possess any land on which to build a women’s dormitory or the funds to hire respectable chaperones,” she said dryly.

“That would be an extraordinary effort solely for one student.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps if such accommodations were available, the Academy would acquire above one female student.”

He made an exasperated noise. “I am endeavoring to understand the extent of your magical education.”

“I did not sneak into Eton or Oxford, if that is what you are asking,” she said. “Not that they would teach the kind of illusion spell I used yesterday.”

“No,” Mr. Darcy admitted. “I have never observed such a thing. The academies teach more… practical magic.”

“I believe my spell was of great practical use yesterday.”

“In some limited circumstances,” he conceded. “But at the Academy you would have learned offensive and defensive skills.”

“I would have liked that,” she said, not bothering to conceal the wistfulness in her voice.

He was silent for a minute as they continued wandering through the garden. Finally he cleared his throat. “Perhaps you have been sheltered here in Hertfordshire. But many people may think it is…forward for a woman to practice major spells.”

She regarded him steadily. “I assure you, sir, that we possess social stigmas in the countryside as well.”

“I do not judge you for it,” he said hastily. “But others might.”

“Yes, I am overwhelmed by your approval of my life choices,” Elizabeth said dryly.

He grimaced. “Practicing magic will materially hurt your chances of making an advantageous match.”

Now Elizabeth did laugh. “Do you truly believe I am blind to that possibility? I know that Sir William told his son not to court me.”

Mr. Darcy started. He had thought she did not know. Surely he could guess that if Sir William would relate such information to a new acquaintance, he would have shared it with nearly everyone. Charlotte, Jane, and Mr. Bennet had all been informed of Sir William’s great regret at forbidding his son’s suit. For her part, Elizabeth was more relieved than slighted.

“But marriage—”

Elizabeth interrupted him. “If I cannot find a husband who will accept a wife with magical talents, then I shall not marry.” He gaped at her as if she had expressed a longing to visit the moon. She shrugged. “It is no hardship. Marriage need not be every woman’s highest ambition.”

“But—if you did not use magic, surely you would—”

“If I did not use magic, I might or might not find a husband. But I certainly would be quite unhappy. Would you give up magic?”

“No, but it is different for a man.”

“I do not believe it is so very different.” He was not convinced. “Giving up magic would be akin to chopping off my arm. Would you surrender a limb for the prospect of marriage?” she asked with a sharp sidelong glance.

“I suppose not.”

Elizabeth plucked a rose from one of the protected bushes and twirled it through her fingers. “I never really had the opportunity to conceal my magic. When I was eleven, my sister Kitty fell into the river during the harvest festival. Unable to swim, she was in danger of drowning. I would have done anything to save her. I reached for the ether to shape the water so that it rose up and returned her to land.”

Mr. Darcy stared at her. “Water shaping? At age eleven.”

“Half the town witnessed me use a powerful spell. After that it seemed rather silly to pretend otherwise. Locking the barn door after the horse has escaped. “

“But surely…people would forget if you were more…discreet.”

She regarded him with narrowed eyes. “Would you forget if you saw a child shaping water?”

He did not reply, but the answer was written on his countenance.

“You need not worry about my matrimonial prospects.” She imbued her tone with a lightheartedness she did not entirely experience. “They are already doomed, and I am free to experiment with magic.” She refused to apologize for a talent that God had granted to her. “Surely you know that many women practice magic.”

Mr. Darcy waved his hand dismissively. “Small, practical bits of magic, yes, but they possess no talents on the scale of true mages.”

“How do you know?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“How could you or anyone know how much magical skill most women possess? We are not tested or trained or sent to the Academy. It is possible that the average woman has as much magic as the average man.”

Mr. Darcy appeared to trip over nothing at all. “No,” he said. “That is not possible…there would be signs…evidence if women had such magical talent….”

There was a definite satisfaction in disturbing the certainties of a man as self-possessed as Mr. Darcy. “We will never know for sure while women remain untested and expected to confine their talents to mending dresses or enhancing their beauty. And, while women remain untrained, as you yourself observed, there is a danger to everyone. Two years ago, a girl in a nearby town accidentally killed her father with her untrained magic—and then killed herself. She was twelve years of age. Surely you have heard similar stories.”

He said nothing for a long moment, fixing his eyes on a large shrub in front of him. “Miss Elizabeth,” he finally said in a hoarse voice, “if that is true…If women possess as much power as you suggest….the Convocation has wasted hundreds of years by not training them. That would be…a colossal waste of talent.”

“Yes,” she said simply.

“The country does not possess nearly enough mages to meet all the needs for magic. So many have died in the war against Napoleon that there are never sufficient mages to fight crop blights or heal victims of disease or protect against goblins and banish malicious ghosts.”

“Indeed.”

“Losing the talents of so many mages…it is a disturbing thought.”

“I cannot imagine you are more disturbed by it than I am.”

He swallowed. “Of course, we do not know for certain. You are only voicing a theory.”

“That is true,” she said easily.

“Surely the Convocation has studied such things.” He seemed to be trying to convince himself.

“Perhaps they have.” Elizabeth had given the man as much of her time as she cared to. She turned toward the house. “I am ready to return to the drawing room. I do not want to catch a chill.”