Chapter Six

Miss Jane and Miss Elizabeth Bennet remained at Netherfield for three days. When she was well enough to go outside, Miss Bennet walked in the garden with Bingley, who insisted she be swathed in several cloaks. Elizabeth had acted as a chaperone, reducing the amount of time she could spend in the library, but she still devoted hours to research.

Despite her unconventional ideas, Darcy found her company hugely enjoyable, and the hours they passed in the library were quite pleasant. She had a clever wit and laughed easily, never taking herself too seriously—and making Darcy feel lighter as a result. They occasionally disagreed, but their debates were always quite interesting.

Although nothing in their research accounted for their present dilemma, they both increased their understanding of goblin behavior—particularly with the advantage provided by Wyndham’s book.

Despite the anxiety about another goblin attack hanging over Hertfordshire, Darcy experienced those days as some of the most enjoyable in his life. He was particularly pleased that he and Elizabeth were becoming friends. Caroline rarely visited the library; she and Mrs. Hurst were occupied with plans for the ball Netherfield would soon host.

Many of Bingley’s books remained unexamined when Elizabeth returned to Longbourn. She took a pile of books with her, and Darcy promised to peruse some of the remaining volumes. They arranged to meet in two days so they might share what they had learned.

Darcy took care to hide his wistful feelings when the Bennet sisters departed, but he suspected he was not alone in those sentiments. Bingley had personally escorted the sisters to the carriage—apparently loath to lose even a minute of Miss Bennet’s company—and had made many promises to visit Longbourn. Upon their departure, Netherfield grew instantly duller and quieter.

Caroline, for one, did not feel the loss. “How pleasant it is to have the house to ourselves!” she declared that night at dinner.

“It is not as if Netherfield is crowded,” Bingley groused to his sister. Every head at the table turned in his direction; Bingley was so rarely cross. “Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth were excellent company,” he added.

“Jane Bennet is a lovely girl, I grant you,” Caroline said languidly. “Although she smiles at everything—and I have reason to wonder how deep her emotions run. And you cannot forget that her mother wishes her to marry a fortune. How much of her affection is genuine? I know you, Charles. You will not be happy with a woman who does not experience true affection for you.”

“No, of course not,” Bingley mumbled. Although he had leapt to Elizabeth’s defense, he struggled to defend himself. Perhaps it was all too easy for Bingley to believe that nobody would love him for his own sake.

Darcy considered arguing with Caroline, but it was true that he had no way of knowing Jane Bennet’s heart. She seemed pleased by Bingley’s affections, but she seemed pleased at everything.

“You must be careful there,” Caroline said. “You do not want to give rise to any expectations you cannot fulfill. With such a sister, she is hardly a suitable match for you.”

“Which sister are you referring to?” Darcy inquired.

Caroline smirked. “Indeed there are so many sisters to provide mortification.” She tittered delicately. “But I meant Miss Elizabeth Bennet. Applying to the Academy! She obviously thinks highly of herself. I cannot imagine you would desire your sister to attempt such a foolhardy scheme.”

“Certainly not,” Darcy agreed, reminding himself that Elizabeth was good company, but he was fortunate that it would go no further. Bingley, however, did not join this discussion and said little for the remainder of the meal.

***

When Elizabeth returned to Longbourn, she was full of ideas about continuing her research, which was proving quite fascinating. Although they had found nothing directly relating to their present dilemma, her father always said, “A little more knowledge is never a bad thing.” Elizabeth was particularly anticipating with pleasure the opportunity to discuss all that she had learned with her father. He had contracted a mild case of pneumonia while they were visiting Netherfield, but she expected he would desire her to read to him during his recovery.

Her sentiments toward Mr. Darcy had warmed slightly. When he looked at her, he was judging her for her ambition and lack of ladylike graces. And, of course, Elizabeth could never achieve Miss Bingley’s level of elegance and sophistication. But perhaps she had won a measure of grudging respect from him.

Her good mood disappeared the minute she entered Longbourn. When they arrived, they discovered their mother entertaining a stranger in the drawing room. The man was short and stout and had the greasiest hair Elizabeth had ever witnessed.

“My dears,” their mother announced grandly, “this is your cousin, Mr. Collins!” Elizabeth recognized the name as the man who would inherit Longbourn upon her father’s demise. She and Jane exchanged worried glances as they sank onto the settee. What could this visit possibly mean?

Mr. Collins smiled in a manner that was supposed to be ingratiating, but Elizabeth could not imagine anyone possibly being reassured by this man. “I heard about your father’s sad affliction and hastened to offer whatever meager assistance I can.” More likely he wished to inspect the property that he hopes to inherit directly. Elizabeth went cold.

“I am sure my father appreciates your solicitude,” Elizabeth said, knowing that the last thing her father needed in his sickroom was this pedant. “Fortunately, he is recovering well.”

Mr. Collins continued as if she had not spoken. “I am blessed to enjoy the patronage of Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She has always said I am a great comfort in her times of affliction…and some of my parishioners agree.” No doubt his parishioners hurry from their sickrooms when they see him coming.

The discourse continued in this vein for some time. The Bennets learned the cost of Lady Catherine’s chimney piece and the glazing on her windows. They discovered how she disciplined her servants and her views on the war. It was fascinating in the way the sight of any disaster is fascinating. But Elizabeth only wanted to quit the room and visit her father.

After approximately two hours of Mr. Collins’s drivel, Hill brought in tea with a plate of lemon biscuits. As Elizabeth’s mother started pouring out the tea, she happened to glance at the fireplace. “Oh dear, I thought Annie had started the fire. No wonder it is so chilly in here. Jane, ring for Annie.”

Elizabeth suppressed her longing to volunteer. Well-bred ladies were not supposed to know fire spells—which was a silly custom since ether was inherently volatile and easy to light.

“Allow me!” Mr. Collins said grandly. “It is the least I can do to repay your hospitality.”

“How kind of you!” Mrs. Bennet replied. Mr. Collins knelt before the fireplace, clearly relishing the opportunity to demonstrate his magical abilities. As he murmured Latin over the logs, Elizabeth’s eyes went wide. She might not possess an Academy education, but she recognized poorly pronounced Latin. He pulled on strands of ether but seemed to have trouble directing them where to go. Nevertheless, he gestured grandly and commanded the logs: “Ignite!”

The plate of lemon biscuits immediately burst into flames.

The logs in the fireplace did nothing.

Jumping up from the settee, Elizabeth managed to wring a little water from the ether with an aquis spell, dowsing the fiery biscuits and creating a plate of soggy crumbs. Mr. Collins regarded the wet biscuits with chagrin.

“Oh! Oh!” he exclaimed. “Miss Elizabeth, did you do that?” She nodded, inspecting the plate for random sparks. “How clever! I struggle to draw water from the ether myself.” Elizabeth did not find that hard to believe. “That is most impressive,” he said as though she were a child demonstrating basic arithmetic.

As Elizabeth departed to fetch a towel, Mr. Collins offered again to start the fire. “On second thought,” her mother said, “It is quite warm enough in here already.”

***

By the end of the day, such mishaps had become alarmingly regular. Mr. Collins’s spell to warm his tea caused the cup to explode. When he slipped some Latin into the grace at the dinner table, the roast bounced off the serving platter. His unsolicited attempt to remove a little dirt from Elizabeth’s dress managed to enlarge the stain; she could only be grateful he had not set it aflame. Elizabeth’s mother turned a blind eye, but her father was hugely entertained by the stories when she visited his bedchamber that evening.

As they readied themselves for bed, Elizabeth observed to Jane, “Many people use little or no magic in their daily lives. Mr. Collins should be one of them.”

Jane gave a tolerant smile. “But he will try, the poor man.”

“At the very least his patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, should have someone follow him around and fix his magical blunders—lest he inadvertently kill someone.”

Jane laughed.

But Elizabeth sank glumly onto the bed. “Even worse, I believe he has taken a particular interest in me. After dinner, he chastised me for opening A Miscellany of Goblins and insisted on reading to me from Fordyce’s Sermons for Young Ladies Who Practice Household Magic.”

Jane, who had been visiting their father upstairs at the time, kneaded the counterpane anxiously. “Mr. Collins told Papa he was determined to choose a wife from among his daughters. Mama must have told him of my attachment to Mr. Bingley. Very likely he believes you are the next logical choice.”

Elizabeth snorted inelegantly. “I am absolutely the last person who should marry that man.”

“You would be good at fixing his mistakes.”

“There is a future I would not wish on anyone.” She sighed. “I suppose my only recourse is to avoid him. If he cannot find me, perhaps he will give up in frustration.”

Jane smiled sympathetically. “One can hope.”

***

Two days later, Elizabeth escaped Longbourn after breakfast for her pre-arranged rendezvous with Mr. Darcy. As she set off on the walk for Oakham Mount, she eagerly anticipated a few hours free of Mr. Collins’s irritating laugh and inane comments. As a precaution, to protect her reputation, Elizabeth had told only Jane where she was bound. But the very idea of impropriety made her laugh. There was nothing less romantic than arranging a rendezvous to discuss goblin attacks.

Swathed in an elegant greatcoat, Mr. Darcy had arrived at the top of Oakham Mount first. He did not even greet her, instead pointing to a ring of evenly spaced stones partially concealed by shrubs and tall grasses. The stones were small, and the circle was set back from the path; it was easy to miss if you were not searching for it. “Did you know of this?” he asked. “I felt it as soon as I arrived.”

“Yes. Papa believes it to be the remnants of a summoning circle,” Elizabeth said. “Upon occasion I have sensed disturbances in the ether near it.”

Summoning circles could be used to summon any number of otherworldly creatures, including goblins and ghosts. Supposedly the veil between the worlds was thinner at a circle, making it easier to open a portal.

“But it is so old,” she added. “I doubt it has been used for a century or more.”

“Unfortunately, I believe that is not the case.” Mr. Darcy pointed to a patch of ground within the circle where the weeds had been hacked away.

Elizabeth’s hand flew to her mouth. “It has been used for summonings recently?”

He nodded grimly. “Can you feel the energy?”

Elizabeth reached out with her magical senses to touch the ether—and recoiled instantly. The ether within the circle was…wrong. Dark and twisted, it made her want to run from the place and never return. “I have never sensed that before— That-that vile feeling! What happened here?”

Mr. Darcy regarded the circle warily. “I do not know, but it was something far beyond an ordinary goblin summoning. That would not produce such cloying…foulness.”

Elizabeth swallowed. Had they solved the mystery? “If we bring Mr. Marsh here, could he trace the tengu, hobgoblin, and trow goblins to the locations of the attacks?”

Mr. Darcy shook his head. “I thought so initially. But I observe no etheric traces leading from this place. If the goblins were summoned here and sent elsewhere, it should leave some kind of trail, no matter how faint.” His gaze roamed the area of the circle, and then he stepped inside it with a visible shudder.

He knelt, scooping up something from the ground. “What is that?” Elizabeth asked.

“Ashes.”

She sucked in a breath. Several small gray mounds were visible throughout the interior of the ring. “If each is a dead goblin…there could easily have been fifteen or more slain here!”

Mr. Darcy nodded solemnly, letting ashes sift through his fingers.

Elizabeth shivered. How had Oakham Mount become a goblin graveyard? It made her skin crawl. Goblins were destructive, but this was simply murder. She voiced what they were both thinking. “Someone summoned multiple goblins solely for the purpose of killing them.”

“It appears so.” Mr. Darcy dusted ashes from his hands and stood.

“Why? Why would someone do so?”

“I do not know. Summoning goblins just to kill them would require expending a great deal of power for no discernable purpose.”

Elizabeth’s stomach gave a queasy lurch. “It cannot have been terribly long ago, or the ashes would have washed away in the rain.”

Mr. Darcy stepped out of the circle. “At least we know why the ether is so foul and wrong. It reverberates with the residue of the killings. I will notify Marsh about this. I do not believe he will discover more than we have, but he may possess investigative techniques I am unaware of.”

He frowned at the summoning circle for a long moment. Finally Elizabeth said, “I would speak further, but I am loath to remain in this place.”

He gave a brisk nod. “Of course. Let us descend.”

Elizabeth led the way down the hill. It was not steep, but she was not equal to striking up a conversation. At the foot of the hill, she turned them to the right where they came upon a small pond that was mostly hidden by a copse of trees. Drawing her cloak tightly about herself, Elizabeth sat on a fallen log. Mr. Darcy picked up a handful of pebbles and threw them rather forcefully one-by-one into the water. It must be difficult for a paladin to witness unnecessary death—even if it was just goblins.

Elizabeth shared what she had learned during her research over the past few days, and Mr. Darcy listened. Then he related a few things he had found in the course of his reading. After he finished his recitation, they were silent for a minute. “I do not feel we are any closer to an answer,” he said finally.

“No. Oakham Mount only presented us with more questions,” Elizabeth said glumly.

Mr. Darcy sank beside her on the log, looking as defeated as she felt. After a moment, Elizabeth spoke. “I did have one thought. If you recall, Mr. Wyndham taught a goblin named Yucanthas, to speak English after a fashion. Mr. Wyndham died only 23 years ago. It is possible the goblin is still alive.”

It took him a moment to understand what she was implying, and then he turned his head slowly to face her. “Are you suggesting that you want to summon a goblin?”

Words tumbled from Elizabeth. “Yucanthas might explain why the goblins have been attacking. Perhaps it would know who killed the ones at Oakham Mount.” Then she hastily added, “Yucanthas is a kobold.” Of the known types of goblins, kobolds were the least destructive and friendliest to humans. Of course, “friendly” was a relative term. It merely meant that kobolds did not always attack humans on sight.

“No goblin is safe to summon,” Mr. Darcy warned.

“Mr. Wyndham kept the portal open so he could return the goblin. And he always established a containment spell to prevent it from escaping or attacking.”

“Have you ever cast a containment spell?”

Elizabeth lifted her chin. “I have never had the need. But I am sure I could do it; I have devised such a spell.”

Mr. Darcy rubbed his face with both hands. “Summoning is illegal! Against the Convocation Code.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “How many mages have broken that particular rule? You said yourself that they summon goblins at the Academy.”

“For research purposes! Under controlled circumstances.”

She shrugged. “We would be conducting research, and we can control the circumstances.”

Mr. Darcy stood and commenced pacing along the narrow strip of land beside the pond.

“Many early mages conducted goblin summonings before it was illegal,” Elizabeth pointed out. “We would not know nearly so much about goblins without their work.”

Mr. Darcy glowered at her. “And many of them died.”

“I believe we are running out of other options,” Elizabeth insisted.

“It is too dangerous!” he growled. Elizabeth flinched. He was usually so contained and reserved. Even when fighting goblins, he demonstrated little emotion.

Mr. Darcy took a deep breath to calm himself and directed his gaze to the pond.

“Doing nothing is dangerous as well,” Elizabeth argued. “Which member of my family might be injured by a goblin next?” She hated the way her voice wobbled.

He turned to stare at her intently. She refused to avert her gaze. “You will do this summoning with me or without me. Will you not?”

“Yes.”

He looked like he wanted to throw something. “We need more time,” he said finally.

“Time for what?”

“I hoped the investigator would find something or at least devise a theory. But….in all honesty, Mr. Marsh is not the best investigator the Convocation could offer. Apparently a troll incursion in Wales called away the most experienced investigators. He holds the position because he is the second son of the Viscount Granby. I hoped he might…stumble upon something of use, but that does not appear likely now.”

“I appreciate your candor,” she said. “But surely this is yet another reason to attempt a summoning.”

Mr. Darcy stared into the distance, apparently torn by an internal debate. Finally, his shoulders slumped. “It would be safer if I attempted the summoning. It is not my area of expertise, but at least I witnessed the procedure as a student.”

A surge of excitement filled Elizabeth. She had wanted to witness a goblin summoning. “I will happily yield to your superior experience. Perhaps I might establish the containment spell while you perform the summoning?”

“I do not like the idea, but you are correct about our lack of other options.” His mouth was set in a grim line. “However, I will consider it only as a last resort—if we have made no additional progress in a week’s time.”

A week? Elizabeth opened her mouth to protest and closed it again. He had agreed to assist her against his better judgment; she should be grateful.

“I need time to study the ritual and learn the spell. This is one spell I do not want to have go awry. However, if we have learned nothing more in a week’s time, I will undertake a summoning.” He frowned at her. “But you must give me your word that you will not attempt a summoning on your own. That is the condition of my assistance.”

Elizabeth hesitated but then nodded. “I give my word.” A solo attempt would be dangerous.

“Good.” He appeared as if the whole world weighed down his shoulders. “I can only hope that this scheme becomes unnecessary.”

“As do I.”

He regarded her solemnly. “None of our options are attractive. Perhaps we can choose the least bad one.” With that cheering thought, they said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.

***

Darcy spent the remainder of the day searching for summoning spells. Fortunately, the Netherfield library had a few older books written during a time when summoning was not illegal. He chose a spell that promised to keep the portal open so the goblin might return; hopefully it would work as it claimed. Although he still believed a summoning was a terrible idea, it could become necessary.

The following day was the Netherfield ball. Darcy was pleased at the prospect of encountering Elizabeth under more auspicious circumstances. Perhaps she would dance with him this time; surely he had made some inroads of friendship by now. At times during the day, the idea of dancing with Elizabeth excited him to the point of distraction. He could imagine the touch of her hand in his, the liveliness sparkling in her eyes, and a smile just for him.

Such eagerness was uncharacteristic of Darcy and worried him upon occasion. But, of course, she was lovely and a witty conversationalist. Any man would be pleased to dance with her. It meant nothing. And dancing with her was a kindness since so many men in Hertfordshire avoided her. He would be allowing her to exhibit her dancing skills. Her light and pleasing figure.

And no doubt this minor obsession was an attempt to distract himself from larger anxieties about the goblin attacks.

Bingley had been rightfully concerned about the safety of his guests; he would have happily called off the event altogether, but Caroline had insisted on proceeding. She was bent on demonstrating the family’s wealth and taste, showing Hertfordshire how a “real” ball was conducted.

Bingley had hired mages from London to encircle the manor as guards. Since portals rarely opened indoors, those precautions should be sufficient.

It would be incumbent upon Darcy to dance with Caroline; in fact, they were to lead the first dance. The prolonged visit to Netherfield had allowed him to become better acquainted with Caroline—which had been his purpose—but additional knowledge had not led to more tender emotions.

When he had first met Caroline, he had liked that she was a woman of strong opinions who would speak her mind. Her fine manners and elegance, he believed, compensated for the occasional abrasiveness that she directed toward her brother or the servants. Now that they were betrothed, however, he had learned that the brusqueness was intrinsic to her character, and it provoked no little anxiety. When they danced, Caroline always surveyed the room and remarked upon who noticed them—as if Darcy was the prize hog that she proudly displayed at the county fair.

But there was nothing for it. He could not be forsworn. We are engaged, he reminded himself. I must dance with her. She will be my wife, and I should show her every consideration.

She had organized an elegant ball that spared no expense in the décor; the effect was stunning. She had hired a London mage with an expertise in illusions, and he had made the entire room resemble a wooded glade. The walls were covered with the illusion of a woodland scene, the ceiling twinkled with faux stars, and a bright “moon” hung where the chandelier would be. Wood nymphs frolicked through the room, often turning themselves into trees and back again. Trays of food and drinks appeared to float through the air as they were held aloft by tiny pixies frantically flapping their wings.

The entrance doors were adorned with large images of Bingley’s family members. Bingley and Caroline adorned one door and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst occupied the other. Each portrait was as tall as a person and the effect was rather more startling than pleasing. Whenever he passed by the doors, the illusory Caroline appeared to be watching Darcy and judging his actions.

There could be no doubt that Caroline had achieved her goal of outshining everyone in Hertfordshire. In fact, few balls in London could have surpassed this one. She smiled proudly as guests entered the room and gaped at the décor. Darcy could not help wondering if it was the best use of Bingley’s fortune.

Bingley, in contrast, was barely containing his anxiety. He fidgeted constantly with his cuffs or cravat, no doubt wondering whether the wards would hold. Darcy stood beside Bingley at the ballroom entrance for a time as he welcomed guests. During the lulls between the guests’ arrival, the two men spoke of the upcoming election for archmage. The position was elected every three years, and, of course, Darcy’s uncle was standing for election again.

Darcy was shocked to learn that Bingley intended to support Hurst for the position. “I know Matlock is your uncle,” his friend said hastily, “but I believe Hurst would do a fine job. He is exceedingly dedicated.”

Hurst only dedicated himself to dinner—in Darcy’s estimation. “I have never heard you speak of Hurst in such a way.”

Bingley shrugged uncomfortably. “He really is quite clever.”

His friend’s words made no sense to Darcy. “Hurst is barely a mage. You know he only received an Academy degree because of his family’s influence.”

Bingley waved a hand. “That was the rumor, but I do not believe it. And just think of everything he has accomplished recently.” Bingley turned to greet a series of guests, and Darcy never learned about Hurst’s “accomplishments.”

Darcy was completely diverted when the Longbourn party arrived. They were joined by a cringing, oily man whom Darcy assumed to be the visiting cousin that Bingley had mentioned. Darcy had expected a somewhat older gentleman, closer to Mr. Bennet’s age, but this man was young and likely unmarried.

When Elizabeth entered the room, however, Darcy could look nowhere else. She was particularly stunning tonight in a white gown adorned with tiny rosebuds. After Bingley greeted her, Darcy wasted no time in prevailing upon her to partner him for the second set. Elizabeth smiled but declined.

“I am afraid the first two sets have been claimed by my cousin, Mr. Collins.” She gestured to the obsequious man who was blathering to Bingley about his patroness’s lap dog. Mrs. Bennet was watching the man with an approving smile. No doubt she hoped he would wed one of her daughters. Elizabeth would be the obvious choice, he realized. They would hope Miss Bennet would marry Bingley, and the others were rather young.

Darcy’s stomach roiled. Nobody understood Elizabeth’s worth. Her magical talent would be wasted as the wife of a country priest. He wanted to make Mrs. Bennet understand. And he wanted to make Collins understand. Or possibly punch his smirking face.

Darcy secured Elizabeth’s promise for the third set, but he had no opportunity for further discourse before Caroline summoned him to lead her in the first dance. Darcy hated to be put on display in such a way, but Caroline preened and strutted, so at least one person was happy. They made a striking couple; the blue in her gown even matched the blue of his waistcoat.

Naturally he was obligated to converse with Caroline. Fortunately this was a simple matter as long as he focused the conversation on her. “The ball is magnificent. You have outdone yourself.”

“No doubt it will set a new standard for elegance in Hertfordshire,” Caroline said with a satisfied smile.

“And you are lovely,” he added. “That gown is quite elegant.”

“Madame Delacroix says I possess exquisite taste.”

Darcy guessed the mantua maker said that to all her clients since, in truth, Caroline was adorned with enough peacock feathers to have denuded an entire flock. The effect was arresting, but he would not have labeled it “exquisite.”

Darcy could not avoid glimpses of Elizabeth dancing with Collins. She was everything light and graceful while her partner was an oaf. In fact, dancing with him was decidedly hazardous. The first dance was “The King’s Hop,” which called for mages of any power to manipulate the ether so their partners would levitate in the air for a few seconds. The music had been specifically composed to take into account this short “hop” in the air.

The first time Collins levitated Elizabeth, he landed her on another man’s toes. The second time, Elizabeth crashed into the woman dancing beside her. Darcy winced. It was not easy to secure the precise timing of the levitation, but Collins appeared to have never practiced the maneuver. He should not even be attempting levitation; plenty of other men were keeping their partners firmly on the floor.

Darcy watched the third hop with sick fascination. However, Elizabeth lifted off the floor perfectly—to the desired height of four inches—hung for a second, and then gracefully sank back to the floor, absolutely in time with the music.

Elizabeth was grinning. Oh. She had lifted herself, and Collins’s self-satisfied smirk showed that he remained oblivious. When it came time for another lift, Darcy was forced to focus on his own dancing, managing to levitate Caroline with perfect timing. But his thoughts were consumed with Elizabeth. Possessing a vivacity that no other woman in the room could come close to achieving, she practically glowed in Darcy’s sight. He did not understand how anyone in the ballroom could avert their gaze from her.

Why could other men not grasp how special she was? They should be lining up to be her dance partner. Darcy was just as pleased that she remained his special secret, but his heart ached that she was not receiving her due from the male half of the population. Surely some man of worth would understand her value. Someone far better than Collins. Someone like…

No men of his acquaintance would be worthy of her. Which was just as well because thinking of her on another man’s arm made his stomach clench unpleasantly. It made no sense. She could never be his. Why was he so obsessed with her?

The answer fell over him like rain out of a clear blue sky.

I am in love with her.