And so, his constant observation aside, the moment was almost enjoyable. It was a tranquil, domestic moment, two people sharing a meal in a sunlit room, the pressure of their destiny, the threat of the Blight, for one precious instant, forgotten.
Then Darcy, inevitably, broke the illusion. He lowered his newspaper, his gaze meeting hers with a new, almost hesitant consideration, as if gauging her mood, before deciding to speak.
“Mrs Darcy,” he began, the name sounding stiff and practiced in his mouth, a title that had not yet found any comfort between them, “I have reconsidered our approach. If you are willing, I should like to attempt a different magical exercise this morning.”
“I should be glad to try.”
Darcy rose, picked up a pitcher of water, and poured its contents into a bowl. “Water is the most pliable of elements,” he said. His voice was different, more thoughtful, entirely lacking the lecturing quality.
She stared at the ornate china bowl. The surface of the water was still and reflective.
“Let us attempt to create a small ripple on the surface. Look at the water, and see how it rests. It does not need to be conquered. It only needs to be moved, like a single petal from a rose falling onto its surface. That is the disturbance we seek. The slightest of whispers. Do not try to push it; simply breathe upon the surface with your mind.”
He was making an effort, she realised with a strange pang. The least she could do was quiet her own misgivings and attempt the same.
She closed her eyes and pictured a gentle disturbance, akin to the delicate circles that might form if she were to dip the very tip of her finger into the still water and then, just as gently, remove it.
The water in the bowl remained completely undisturbed. The silence stretched, and in it, Elizabeth’s thoughts inadvertently strayed from the task and back to what she had overheard the previous day.
Georgiana. The name echoed in her mind. He had spoken it with such agony. It could only be the name of a woman who had broken his heart, and the thought left her feeling oddly displaced. It was an entirely irrational feeling, and all the more irritating for it.
Her focus drifted entirely from the bowl. Her own magic roiled within her, as undirected as her thoughts.
Then, with a gurgle, the water began to churn and seethe, as if possessed by some malevolent, aquatic demon. It rose up in a grotesque column, nearly a foot into the air, then collapsed back into the bowl with a loud, messy splash, sending a torrent of cold water cascading onto their breakfast dishes and drenching them entirely.
Silence. Elizabeth felt the cold shock first, the water soaking the front of her gown, the unpleasant drip of it on her neck from the ends of her hair. Then came the heat of burning mortification. She did not dare look at him, but she could feel his stillness, his withering assessment of this new, spectacular failure.
“It appears that even the most yielding of elements resists your particular style of magical persuasion,” Darcy said.
She was deeply embarrassed, but refused to let him see it. With her own temper wearing down to threads, Elizabeth replied archly, “It is a curious thing, sir. Indeed, I mustcommend you. My magic seems determined to give you the very result you anticipate.”
She saw a dark flush rise on his neck, a sign that her aim had been true. “I would thank you to make no jest of this,” he said coldly, “Have you no sense of the peril you so casually invoke? The power that you treat with such cavalier wit not only endangers you, it renders our entire purpose here futile.”
His words, especially coming so soon after that fleeting, fragile glimpse of a different life, hit harder, cut deeper, than any of his previous pronouncements. Elizabeth turned away, staring at the ruined breakfast table, restraining the impulse to respond in kind.
She saw him, out of the corner of her eye, look away as well, a shadow of what might have been regret crossing his features.
A moment later, Darcy said stiffly, “Forgive me, I should not have spoken so. I did not intend — ”
“Pray, do not apologise. You merely gave voice to a conclusion you have held from the first.”
“No, I — ” Darcy shook his head, a gesture of helpless frustration. He rose abruptly to his feet, his chair scraping gratingly against the floor, the sound, loud and discordant, seeming to pierce directly through to Elizabeth’s already bruised spirit. “We should not continue this discussion while we are soaking wet. Madam,” and with that curt word, he tossed down his sodden napkin and left.
Elizabeth gathered what remained of her dignity and rose as well, calling a maid and directing the clean up of the breakfast parlour. Then she retreated to her chambers.
Later that evening, as Elizabeth sat by the fire, engaged in some poor embroidery, Sarah brought her the greatest balm to her spirits: a package of letters from home.
She broke the seal for Jane’s letter first, her fingers trembling, and began to read. Her sister’s graceful,familiar,script filled the page, speaking of small, everyday happenings at Longbourn, of their mother’s continued pronouncements on the brilliance of Lizzy’s match (a topic Elizabeth skimmed over with a grimace), of Kitty and Lydia’s latest flirtations.
And then, the words that made Elizabeth’s heart contract with a pang of incredulous hope.
My dearest Lizzy, Jane wrote, her words overflowing with happiness,I have some news which I trust will bring you some pleasure, as it has brought such a tumult of joy to my own heart. Mr Bingley has been a most frequent and attentive visitor to Longbourn since your departure.
A broad smile touched Elizabeth’s lips, the first she had felt in weeks. Jane and Mr Bingley! It was a match of true affection, of compatibility, of shared warmth and kindness. Her dearest, sweetest Jane deserved such happiness.
Yet, even as she rejoiced for Jane, a fresh ache settled in Elizabeth’s own heart. The contrast between her sister’s hopeful future and her own dismal reality was almost too much to bear. She, who had always dreamt of a marriage based on mutual respect, on intellectual companionship, on a true meeting of hearts and minds, was bound instead to…Mr Darcy.
CHAPTER EIGHT
