Chapter Fourteen

Darcy could scarcely credit that the time had arrived already for the Emerys’ ball. It seemed like he had just been telling Elizabeth about it yesterday, but it had to have been longer than that. He had been in London for…two days? Three? He could not quite recall. But his mind had been feeling fuzzy and unfocused recently; obviously he was exhausted and needed more rest. A niggling voice at the back of his mind told Darcy he had something important to discuss with Elizabeth, but he could not remember what it was. Perhaps it was not so important after all.

He was holding a glass of punch. Oh yes, he had been taking it to Caroline. And there she was, talking to her brother and sister. In her orange silk gown, she was more beautiful than ever. He wanted to stop and admire her, but she would want her punch.

“Thankfully those goblin attacks have ceased,” Caroline was saying to Bingley as Darcy handed her the punch.

“That is a fine thing,” Darcy agreed, although he could not quite remember how he was so certain they had stopped.

Bingley turned to Darcy. “Caroline tells me you have set a date for the wedding.”

“Have we?” Darcy’s thoughts moved sluggishly—as though he had consumed an excess of wine.

Caroline laughed as if he had made a joke. “I know you have not forgotten that!” She turned back to her brother. “It will take place a week from today. Now that we are both back in town there is no reason for delay. I spoke to the rector at St. George’s Church and procured his services for the ceremony. Fitzwilliam will obtain a special license.” She snuggled her arm in his. “Will you not, darling?”

“Yes, of course,” he responded. There was little reason for further delay. They might as well be wed sooner rather than later.

“I have my trousseau prepared, and the gown is ready.”

Darcy frowned. “Although Georgiana is still at Pemberley. She will be hurt if I marry without her in attendance.”

Caroline patted his hand. “We have plenty of time to send for her.”

“Yes, of course.”

“This is wonderful news,” Bingley said, although he did not sound certain.

Caroline laughed. “Is it not? I know we will be very happy!” She gave Darcy a pointed look.

“Indeed,” he agreed automatically, rubbing his forehead. He was happy. Of course he was happy.

“We must be sure to tell everyone this news!” Caroline said to her brother. She steered Darcy toward a nearby group of their acquaintances, regarding him intently. “We will tell everyone.

“Yes, of course.” Darcy wished he could dispel the fogginess in his mind. No doubt it was simply because the room was so close and crowded. He had always loathed balls, but they pleased Caroline, and her happiness was his greatest concern.

***

Elizabeth moved a little closer to her Uncle Gardiner as they navigated the crush at the ball. To avoid being separated, her aunt clung to his other arm like a lifeline.

When they had received the invitation to the Emerys’ ball, Elizabeth had tingled with anticipation. The two days since they had parted had seemed like an eternity. She was forced to admit to herself that these tender feelings had been growing stronger for weeks.

He is another woman’s fiancée. I should not think this way. It would have been an excellent reason to avoid the ball altogether, and yet nothing short of an attack by the French could have kept her away. Even though they could never be together, her heart glowed. She would see Mr. Darcy again—knowing that she commanded his affections.

Elizabeth had not forgotten her aunt’s admonishments. They had discussed her imminent departure for Longbourn; this might be the last time she saw Mr. Darcy. But surely he would invite her to at least one set, and she would relate the fruits of her research. She was determined to enjoy tonight and worry about tomorrow when it arrived.

Some of Elizabeth’s excitement had melted away when they arrived at the ball. This was a much grander affair than anything she had ever experienced. There must be above one hundred people in attendance! Despite the chill of early spring outside the house, the many guests had raised the room’s temperature—as well as its noise level.

Their hosts had spared no expense with the décor. The walls were “painted” with magical images depicting famous historical scenes that had come to life—Hannibal crossing the mountains, the siege of Carthage, the battle of Agincourt, the Spanish Armada. Candles floated above the guests’ heads, spangling the ceiling like stars in a night sky.

And the clothing! Nearly every guest sported some sort of enchantment in their clothing. Ladies wore dresses that subtly shimmered with light at every movement or altered color every few seconds. One woman’s hat appeared to be fashioned from live flames. Another woman had a tiny, living dragon adorning her dress. The men’s clothing was less eye-catching, but many waistcoats glowed with their own light while some rotated through the colors of the rainbow.

Elizabeth had never encountered such ostentatious displays of wealth and magic. Her best evening gown was painfully plain by comparison. No wonder Miss Bingley had viewed Hertfordshire as a backwater.

If she could just find Mr. Darcy! Surely the evening could be salvaged if she could speak with him. He would be happy to see her and would appreciate what she had learned. They might even escape to the terrace and steal a kiss.

There he was. Mr. Darcy, with Miss Bingley on his arm, was speaking with a stout man and his overdressed wife. Elizabeth pointed her aunt and uncle in that direction.

She caught his eye with a smile, but he immediately looked away. Was there something wrong? Did Miss Bingley suspect his heart was engaged?

The other guests had departed by the time Elizabeth and the Gardiners met the engaged couple. The two groups exchanged pleasantries, and still Mr. Darcy would not meet her eyes. Miss Bingley coolly surveyed Elizabeth’s dress. “I did not know you were acquainted with the Emerys.”

Elizabeth flushed. Should she reveal that Mr. Darcy had secured their invitations? She chanced a glance at him, but he was staring into his glass of punch. Was he now embarrassed about the kiss in the carriage? Was he ashamed of Elizabeth’s low connections? Did he fear that she would reveal the truth?

“A friend was kind enough to secure invitations for us,” Aunt Gardiner replied rather stiffly.

Miss Bingley nodded absently, her attention fixed on Elizabeth. “My dear Eliza! I am so pleased to have encountered you here. I know you will be overjoyed to hear our good news.”

Elizabeth managed to choke out a few words in a fairly normal tone of voice. “And what is that?”

Miss Bingley leaned on Mr. Darcy’s arm. “Why do you not tell her, Fitzwilliam?” He blinked rapidly as if he had just awakened. “The event…in a week?” she prompted.

“Oh yes. Caroline and I will be wed on Saturday at St. George’s Church.” As he spoke, a slow smile spread over his countenance.

“Wonderful,” Uncle Gardiner said.

“Congratulations,” Aunt Gardiner echoed, with a troubled glance at Elizabeth.

She could not breathe; her lungs had ceased to work. Only days ago Mr. Darcy had assured her he was attempting to delay the wedding. Elizabeth now realized she had entertained hopes that perhaps he might not wed Miss Bingley at all.

But now he was gazing into his fiancée’s eyes with an oddly wide smile. “We have waited entirely too long for this event. I am eager to make my beloved Caroline mine for all eternity.”

No, no. This is all wrong. Why is he saying such things?

I am so fortunate to possess such a loving fiancé.” Miss Bingley’s smug smile was directed at Elizabeth, whose lungs had ceased to function altogether. Had Mr. Darcy told her what happened in the dragon coach?

“I am very happy for you,” Elizabeth said woodenly. Mr. Darcy was grinning widely, wearing an expression she had never seen before. Had she ever known this man? Is he just a charming rake after all? Perhaps he was the sort of man who enjoyed toying with women’s hearts.

Mr. Hurst appeared suddenly, right beside Mr. Darcy. Elizabeth flinched, but Mr. Darcy evinced no wariness or discomfort. Was he not concerned about possible goblin attacks? Miss Bingley gave her brother-in-law a radiant smile. “John, I hope you have no plans for Saturday. Fitzwilliam and I will be tying the knot.”

Mr. Hurst’s smile was more predatory than congratulatory. “Good work, my dear sister,” he said as if persuading Mr. Darcy to set a date had been a monumental feat. And perhaps it had been.

Then Mr. Hurst turned to the prospective bridegroom. “Good show, Darcy!” Mr. Darcy gave the other man that strange grin and shook his hand. Elizabeth had entered some kind of twilight world where up was down and left was right.

“I hope you will be able to attend the ceremony,” Mr. Darcy said to Mr. Hurst with every appearance of sincerity. “It would not be the same without you.”

“I would not miss it for the world!” the other man responded.

Elizabeth tried to keep her expression blank. Of course, Mr. Darcy would not want Mr. Hurst to know of his suspicions, but why demonstrate such uncharacteristic amiability? Mr. Hurst did not appear to think it odd, however. Perhaps Elizabeth misunderstood their degree of familiarity.

Had Mr. Darcy decided Mr. Hurst was innocent of the crimes they suspected? But if so, surely he would want to share that information with Elizabeth. The man before her seemed to have no intention of speaking with her privately or inviting her to dance.

He had ensured she received an invitation to the ball, and now he ignored her. Perhaps her aunt was right, and he was simply toying with her.

“We must share the news with others,” Miss Bingley said airily. “I beg you to excuse us.” She led Mr. Darcy and Mr. Hurst toward another group of guests.

“Will you take a turn about the room with me?” Aunt Gardiner asked Elizabeth immediately. She nodded dumbly, too dazed to speak.

“He cannot have been serious in his feelings for you,” her aunt said once they were walking. “His affection for his fiancée appears genuine. He was playing some game with you.”

“It is possible,” Elizabeth allowed, blinking against the wetness in her eyes. Her conviction that Mr. Darcy was not that type of man warred with the evidence of recent events.

“It would be best for you to put him out of your mind.”

Her aunt was correct. No matter what lay behind Mr. Darcy’s erratic behavior, for Elizabeth’s protection she should be far removed from the man. “Yes, indeed,” she responded. There was clearly no point in trying to speak with him about anything—even the goblin attacks—at the ball. If he were no longer pursuing the matter, then Elizabeth was the only person who knew about Mr. Hurst’s possible involvement. But what could she do? She had no proof, and nobody in the Convocation would listen to her.

She quickly swiped away a few tears; she could not allow anyone to guess her sorrow. She kept pace with her aunt as they navigated the perimeter of the ballroom. They had only just arrived at this glittering ball, and yet she could not wait to depart.

***

Elizabeth and the Gardiners left the ball at the earliest opportunity. Nobody had invited her to dance or paid her much attention at all. When they returned to Gracechurch Street, Elizabeth claimed a headache and hurried to her room, eager to avoid further conversation with her aunt and uncle. How she wished she never revealed what he said in the dragon coach! Now she just wanted to be alone.

She quickly donned her nightclothes and slipped into bed. The guestroom at Gracechurch Street was small, tucked up under the eaves, but at least she did not need to share it with anyone. Making conversation with her small cousins would be intolerable.

She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself. But the humiliating scene in the Emerys’ ballroom was too fresh in her mind. And then she was sobbing, muffling the noise with her hand and dripping tears onto her pillow.

Eventually Elizabeth had cried herself out, but sleep would not come. The rest of the household had bedded down for the night, but her mind was racing. What was behind Mr. Darcy’s strange behavior? Why had he agreed to an immediate wedding? What—if anything—could she do about the goblin attacks?

Eventually, Elizabeth slid out of bed, donned a pair of slippers and her dressing gown, and tiptoed down the stairs as quietly as possible. Having been trapped mostly indoors for two days, she was eager to feel the wind on her face. Fortunately, the weather was mild, and she only required a shawl around her shoulders as she stepped into the small garden behind the Gardiners’ house.

A nearly full moon, high in the sky, shed radiance on the surrounding greenery. Buds of leaves had started to create a smattering of green on otherwise bare branches. A few daring daffodils had poked their heads out from the ground near the fence, a heartening sign that spring was coming.

Elizabeth perched on a small wooden bench and tried to understand her own feelings. Why do I feel that I have lost Mr. Darcy? He was never mine. Mr. Darcy’s words in the dragon coach had forced her to acknowledge her feelings for him, but now he seemed ready to ignore her existence. He is engaged to another woman—planning to wed her in a week, she reminded herself. He should not dance attendance on me, nor should I expect it. He had been engaged for the entirety of their acquaintance; news of his impending marriage should not come as a surprise.

The problem was that the discussion in the carriage had bestowed something like hope on Elizabeth. He had spoken of deep feelings for her and described the engagement as an undesirable obligation. Although he had declared their relationship to be impossible, the tender way he spoke with her had made her hope for a better outcome. Perhaps she was simply a fool.

Her regard for him had crept up on Elizabeth unaware. She had not set out to fall in love with an engaged man, but there was little point in denying that had happened. She sighed, a soft exhalation. Even if she never told another soul, she should at least be honest with herself: she was in love with Mr. Darcy. Nothing else would explain why the news of his impending nuptials was so hard to bear.

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Fate was so cruel, throwing them into each other’s paths when there was no hope for a match. In the carriage, Elizabeth had only begun to recognize her feelings, but now she fully experienced the devastating loss that Mr. Darcy had described.

He had not appeared devastated—or even disturbed—at the ball. If his feelings were so shallow, then he was a different person than she understood him to be. But surely even a shallow man would be uncomfortable in her presence—or concerned about what she might reveal to his fiancée. He had been indifferent. It made no sense.

Had she been deceived in his character as Aunt Gardiner suggested? She had spent long hours with him every day for nearly a week; surely she would have glimpsed some hints of inconstancy of character.

He had seemed almost like another man at the ball. He had been unusually attentive to Miss Bingley—wearing an uncharacteristically silly smile. Elizabeth had witnessed him in his fiancée’s company before, and he had never behaved thus.

Certainly Mr. Darcy was capable of loving with terrifying intensity, but he was not the sort of man to speak of it so openly. And his words of love about Miss Bingley had been rather… stilted…mechanical. His tone had belied those declarations of ardor.

It was all so strange.

Elizabeth stopped breathing as she recalled Mr. Darcy’s account about Mr. Bingley unexpectedly favoring Mr. Hurst for archmage. Mr. Darcy had likewise seemed unusually friendly with Mr. Hurst.

Had the man used suasion to turn Mr. Darcy’s opinion in his favor? She knew little about the illegal spell. Mr. Darcy had not indicated that suasion was capable of producing such enormous changes in behavior, but he could have been mistaken. Nobody practiced suasion today; even the Convocation was not likely to possess complete knowledge of it.

Feeling lightheaded, Elizabeth forced herself to start breathing again. Would Mr. Hurst have used some of his carefully hoarded power to bother changing Mr. Darcy’s sentiments about his fiancée? It hardly seemed worth the trouble. Mr. Darcy had suspected that Mr. Hurst had grander ambitions; it was possible that Miss Bingley was part of the man’s machinations. Certainly control of Mr. Darcy’s wealth would be beneficial to any plans.

Or perhaps Miss Bingley herself used suasion. She claimed not to practice magic, but certainly women were capable of more magic than was commonly believed. Mr. Darcy’s conduct had been nearly the opposite of how he had treated Miss Bingley previously. Indeed if Elizabeth had been Miss Bingley, she would have wished for him to behave in just that way: besotted and eager to lead his bride to the altar. Perhaps Mr. Hurst had taught her the suasion spell; he might even share power with her if she was part of his schemes.

When they had discussed Mr. Hurst’s nefarious deeds, she and Mr. Darcy had assumed that he acted alone because they—like so many others—had discounted the possibility of a woman wielding power. The irony was not lost on Elizabeth.

Still, her theory seemed too fantastical. Could suasion even produce such results? And even if she was correct, nobody would believe such a baroque plot was possible. Elizabeth stared into the night sky, tears pricking her eyes.

The tasks before her seemed insurmountable. In addition to stopping the goblin attacks and Mr. Hurst’s schemes, she now needed to rescue Mr. Darcy as well. Perhaps she should return to Longbourn and forget she was ever acquainted with these people. Nobody knew about the plot. Nobody would expect her to confront such unimaginable odds.

No. Elizabeth expected more from herself. She could not allow Mr. Darcy to remain under the influence of suasion, and she could not allow that man to take over the Convocation. There was a chance she was wrong in all her suppositions and would make herself into a laughingstock—and her family as well. But Elizabeth had to be willing to take that chance.

Still, dread pooled in her stomach. How could suasion be countered? Her research had uncovered little written about the subject except a few untried theories. Mr. Hurst’s control of Mr. Darcy was so complete she could not imagine how to free him.

But, surely there was a way to counteract a suasion spell. If not, mages capable of suasion would control everyone. However, I cannot do this alone. She had reached the limits of her experience, but who could she turn to for help? Who could she trust?

As she sat on the bench, staring at the moon, the first glimmerings of a plan came to her.

Her Uncle Gardiner was a member of the Convocation. Although not a particularly strong mage, he was acquainted with the organization’s leadership. She could start with him. Perhaps he could gain her access to the Convocation library—and he might know who they could trust with her suspicions. Since he was not a voting member, Mr. Hurst was unlikely to have bothered influencing his opinion.

Elizabeth stood and turned to stare at the dark windows of the Gardiners’ house. They could not afford to waste more time. She would need to awaken her uncle now so they could visit Convocation Hall at first light.

***

Perhaps I am ill, Darcy thought. Although the weather had been mild, it was still possible to catch a chill. His body felt strong and vital, but his mind had been foggy for days. He forgot simple things, and his thoughts seemed to be moving through molasses. Caroline had visited Darcy House for luncheon and dinner the previous day. Darcy could not actually remember inviting her, but she assured him that he had. Of course he had no reason to doubt her. Still, something was not quite right, as if he had missed a step as he descended a staircase. But whatever he was missing remained elusively out of his reach.

When he was with Caroline, he knew he was in love with her. But somehow he could not quite experience that love; it was like something he dimly recalled from a dream. Of course, marrying her was right and natural, but occasionally he would consider asking to delay the wedding. However, whenever he found himself in her presence, delay was the furthest thing from his mind.

Today was the Convocation meeting and banquet, an all-day affair. For the moment he could set aside concerns about Caroline and focus on his duty to mage-kind. Part business meeting and part social occasion, the annual event welcomed new Convocation members and allowed committees to present reports on regional activity. The meeting would commence with the election of the archmage who would preside over the Convocation for the next three years. Darcy experienced a twinge of guilt that he would not be casting a vote for his uncle, but Hurst was clearly the superior choice.

He never failed to be impressed by the great hall. It was an enormous room with a white marble floor and impressive rows of columns and arches along the perimeter. Today it was set with long tables in preparation for the luncheon. After the meeting concluded and luncheon was consumed, tables would be cleared away to leave space for dancing.

The evening banquet that followed was one of the highlights of the mages’ London Season. The Convocation mages would be joined by wives and older children, particularly eligible young men and women who were seeking magically talented spouses. There were already a small number of daughters, wives, and sisters who had accompanied some of the mages.

Darcy arrived with no small amount of trepidation, particularly about encountering Elizabeth Bennet. Her face had fallen when she had learned that Darcy and Caroline had set a wedding date. He liked and respected Elizabeth. It was a shame she had developed such a tendre for him when he was already betrothed. Hopefully he had done nothing to inadvertently encourage such sentiments. In any event, encountering her could become awkward.

Caroline awaited him just inside the entrance to the great hall; he greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. She was so beautiful and stylish—destined to set new fashion trends as Mrs. Darcy. He was exceedingly fortunate that she had agreed to marry him. Why did I ever consider delaying? I would marry her this minute if possible.

Caroline made small talk with her sister and Mr. Hurst about a play they had recently attended. Darcy contributed little to the conversation, but when Caroline requested a glass of punch, he was happy to fetch it for her.

Unfortunately, Miss Elizabeth stood near the punch table—deep in conversation with his uncle, the Earl of Matlock. Darcy awkwardly mumbled greetings to both and hastily collected a glass of punch. But Miss Elizabeth approached, apparently determined to speak with him. “Mr. Darcy! What a pleasure. I hope your health has been good?”

“Y-Yes, I have been in excellent health.” Darcy stared down at the punch. The sense of having missed a step intensified when he was near Miss Elizabeth. How odd.

“I am happy to hear it! I thought you a little pale during our dragon coach ride, but perhaps that was a result of the altitude.”

“D-Dragon coach?” he repeated blankly.

Miss Elizabeth regarded him quizzically. “Why, yes, we took a dragon-drawn carriage from Rosings Park to London. It was quite thrilling.”

Darcy prepared to contradict her, but then an image popped into his mind: Miss Elizabeth sitting on a carriage seat with clouds visible behind her. Yet, dragon carriages were reserved for urgent Convocation business. What could have been so important, and why could he not remember it?

“You requested the coach only four days ago,” Uncle Matlock said, putting a companionable hand on Darcy’s shoulder. “Surely you are too young for such lapses in memory!” he chuckled.

Another image rose unbidden in Darcy’s mind: holding Elizabeth’s hand as he sat beside her in that same carriage. Surely he would never do something so improper. He said the first thing that came into his head. “I do not recall any circumstances that would require a hasty trip to London.”

Miss Elizabeth drew her brows together and leaned toward him, speaking in low tones. “You were concerned that Mr. Hurst was slaying goblins to drain their etheric power.”

Darcy darted a glance at his uncle, disturbed she would make such wild accusations in front of the archmage. But he must have known and appeared only mildly curious. “John would never do such a thing!” Darcy said emphatically. “I did suspect him of…something. But I could not have been more wrong. He explained it all to me.”

“Oh? What did he say?” his uncle asked in a pleasant, noncommittal tone.

The explanation was at the tip of Darcy’s tongue but not quite within reach. “I do not recollect his exact words, but he was most convincing.”

Another image: visiting Hurst’s study alone at night—searching for…something. As Darcy endeavored to grasp the memory, pain lanced through his skull. I need Caroline; she will sort it out.

He turned away from the others without even a “by your leave” and sought Caroline in the crush. She was on the other side of the room—so far away! Before Darcy could take a step in her direction, his uncle touched his shoulder, holding out a glass of wine. “You will appreciate this wine. A most unusual vintage.”

Darcy took it automatically but then shook his head. “Perhaps later,” he said. “I have a headache.” He attempted to return the glass, but his uncle refused. Why was everyone behaving so oddly? “I need to find Caroline—”

His uncle appeared to be blocking the way. “I assure you that this wine will do more to alleviate your headache than Miss Bingley will.”

Miss Elizabeth, at the earl’s side, nodded emphatically. “I think you will appreciate it.” When had she become acquainted with his uncle?

“It must be an exceedingly unusual vintage to heal headaches,” Darcy said.

Elizabeth gave him a strained smile. “You will find it to your taste.”

Very well. If he did as they bade, perhaps they would leave him alone and he could return to Caroline. Darcy gulped down the wine. It was a little on the sweet side for his taste. “Nothing out of the common way, sir. Why did you—?”

But his uncle was muttering Latin and glancing upward as he drew down ether. The strands were curling above Darcy’s head. “What are you about, sir?” he asked. Casting a spell on someone without their permission was the height of bad manners. Elizabeth did not appear disturbed; she watched Darcy intently.

Ignoring Darcy, the earl continued his chant. The strands of ether descended, wrapping themselves around him. Most inappropriate. “Uncle, I must insist that you cease immediately!”

Darcy tried to back away, but his uncle’s hand shot out and grabbed his forearm in a viselike grip. Miss Elizabeth crowded against him on the other side. Nobody appeared to notice their unusual conduct. Had Miss Elizabeth cast a look away spell?

The earl finished the chant with a few English words: “Let the truth be known!”

The effect was immediate and blinding—as if he had stepped straight from London’s foggiest street into a bright, crystal-clear summer day. Darcy blinked furiously, disoriented and a little ill.

His uncle and Miss Elizabeth watched him intently. The etheric bands were gone, and his uncle had released his grip. Darcy could now go to Caroline, but he could not recall why he had needed her so desperately. Between one breath and another, Darcy’s mind caught up to what was happening. He had been enchanted! He was experiencing the aftereffects of a spell. “What did you do to me?” he asked his uncle, his voice hoarse.

“A potion and counter spell to combat suasion.”

Suasion? The mere sound of the word made Darcy’s heart race. His uncle believed he had been influenced by a suasion spell? A denial was on the tip of his tongue, but his uncle did not reach conclusions precipitously. And there was Elizabeth, standing beside the earl, regarding Darcy solemnly. He had every reason to believe her judgment was sound. “I feel…odd. But surely…suasion. It is impossible! It was outlawed.”

“How eagerly are you anticipating your impending wedding?” Elizabeth asked.

“We will be wed on Saturday…” Darcy rubbed his forehead. “Why did I agree to such a plan?”

“Are you still planning to cast a ballot for Hurst as archmage?” she asked.

Darcy opened his mouth to say “of course,” but the words would not come. Instead, a rush of memories flooded back, nearly staggering him under the onslaught. “Hurst is the one who used suasion on me! I found the spell in his study, but he forced me to forget.”

Uncle Matlock gasped. “How dare he?”

Darcy swayed on his feet, nauseated at the thought that Hurst had taken control of his mind. His uncle caught his arm and pushed Darcy gently into a nearby chair. Elizabeth sat beside him. “We suspect Hurst has ‘persuaded’ a large number of people to vote for him.”

Darcy massaged the back of his neck—where a headache still threatened. “The spell was exceedingly powerful. I would dismiss anything that contradicted the story that Hurst had told me.”

His uncle shot a look at Elizabeth. “There is the evidence we need to verify your suspicions. I may have Hurst arrested based on Darcy’s testimony.”

She gave him a chagrined smile. “Actually they were originally Mr. Darcy’s suspicions.”

He massaged his forehead with one hand. “Sir, you cannot have Hurst arrested while at least half the mages in the room are under the influence of his suasion.”

“Half?” His uncle gaped.

Darcy nodded. “I suspect so. At the very least they will suspect you of an underhanded play to win the election. At worst, Hurst may have enough control over them to make them fight you.”

The archmage scowled. “Damnation!” He turned to Elizabeth. “I beg your pardon, miss.”

She shrugged. “I was thinking it.” His uncle laughed.

“We cannot allow him to become archmage,” Darcy said. “But stopping him will be exceedingly dangerous; I can only imagine how much energy was generated by the death of multiple young goblins.”

Elizabeth regarded the archmage speculatively. “Were you able to create more of the potion?”

“Yes. An entire bottle.” A corner of his uncle’s mouth quirked upward. “Fortunately, a little goes far.”

“We discovered that both a potion and a spell are necessary to nullify suasion,” Elizabeth explained to Darcy.

“But how will you distribute the potion?” Darcy asked.

Elizabeth’s gaze slid meaningfully to the punch bowl, and Darcy grinned. “An excellent idea.”

“We were not sure it would be effective,” his uncle explained. “This was our first attempt.”

Darcy grimaced. “I am pleased to have proved to be a good test subject.”

“We believe the suasion spell held a tighter grip on you than most since it forced you to forget things and change multiple opinions,” Elizabeth said.

The spell gripped me so tightly—controlled me. He feared he might cast up his accounts. No wonder suasion spells were regarded with such horror. It was a terrible thing to make a person mistrust their own mind.

“Once most of the mages are no longer under Hurst’s control, they can help us capture him,” his uncle said. “He may have enormous power, but surely he cannot defeat a whole room full of mages.”

Darcy wished he could be as confident. Hurst had proven to be surprisingly resourceful.

Elizabeth and the earl concocted a scheme in which she would provide a distraction so the archmage could pour the potion into the punch unobserved. Apparently the distraction involved an illusion of a bird on the other side of the room. One woman screamed, and another shrieked, “How did it get in?” Men shouted, “Catch it!” at each other as the “bird” swooped and dove over their heads. Few mages could create such a fully realized illusion that would move so freely through space. No doubt it would keep everyone confused for at least a few minutes.

From the corner of his eye, Darcy noticed his uncle sidling surreptitiously toward the punch bowl. Suddenly Caroline Bingley was beside Darcy. Ignoring the commotion on the other side of the room, she regarded him intently. “Your uncle looked quite grim when he spoke with you.” She moved to slip her arm through his. “Is everything all right?”

The bird disappeared, leaving confused grumbling in its wake.

Darcy stepped away, out of her reach. He supposed he should find a way to dissemble and pretend that he was still under her influence, but he was too angry. “No. It appears that someone has been using a suasion spell on me.”

Caroline stiffened. “How extraordinary! Why do you believe that?”

Over her shoulder, Darcy observed his uncle and Elizabeth distributing cups of punch to random guests, murmuring about sharing the excellent recipe. Involved in conversation, most people took the cups absently and sipped.

Darcy focused his attention on Caroline. “Yes, it was extraordinary,” he said. “I found myself suddenly eager to cast my vote for Hurst and desiring an immediate wedding. Was it Hurst who persuaded me that I was desperately in love with you—or was that your doing?”

Caroline’s mouth opened and then closed. “I do not have the pleasure of understanding you.” She tittered nervously. “I am not a mage, of course. What does a suasion spell do?”

Memories of the evening in Hurst’s study rushed back to Darcy. He shivered involuntarily at the recollection of his impotence. “You and Hurst both used suasion on me.”

“I do not know what you are talking about.” Caroline’s voice was shaky.

“No wonder I could not remember anything.” He leaned over to whisper viciously in her ear. “Such as how I am actually in love with Elizabeth Bennet.”

The blood drained from Caroline’s face. “Nonsense! Why, if anyone has cast a spell on you it is her!”

Darcy did not hesitate for a second. “Our engagement is over.” His voice was loud enough to draw attention from many nearby guests, which was all to the good. The more public his repudiation of her was, the less likely she could twist her way out of it.

She grabbed for his hand, but he yanked it from her grasp. “Fitzwilliam, no! You love me! This is just a misunderstanding—”

“You had best depart now.” Darcy’s voice could have frozen the Thames. “I cannot bear the sight of you, but for your brother’s sake I would prefer not to make your actions generally known.”

“Fitzwilliam!” Caroline blinked back tears. He had to give credit to her thespian abilities. “I only did it because I love you so much!”

Darcy rolled his eyes. “You used an illegal spell on me, Caroline!” Several of the onlookers gasped.

Elizabeth appeared at Darcy’s shoulder. “Punch?” She held out a cup to Caroline with a smile that showed all her teeth.

“What have you done to him?” Caroline demanded. “You have turned him against me!”

“You accomplished that all by yourself,” Elizabeth said in a low voice. “You needed no assistance from me.”

“You country wench!” Caroline spat at her, causing nearby guests to gape. Faster than Darcy would have believed possible, she had pulled down strands of ether and directed them toward Elizabeth, whose gown erupted in flames.