“Your courage is commendable, but courage without understanding is merely recklessness. And recklessness, as you both have recently demonstrated at Buxton, often yields calamitous consequences. An entire village set aflame. A ley line destroyed. Has the cost of your last failure taught you nothing of prudence?”
Darcy drew a sharp breath. She felt the barb too, her hand instinctively wanting to reach for his in a gesture of support.
“Our failure at Buxton is a burden we bear daily, my lord. It has instilled in us a caution, a respect for the forces we engage, that perhaps was lacking before. We do not take our present course lightly,” Darcy said.
Elizabeth knew he spoke not just of the financial penalty, but of the horrifying images of the fire, the smoking ruins, the terror in the villagers’ eyes – images that still haunted their waking thoughts and disturbed their fitful sleep.
Lord Magister Theron’s eyes narrowed, his gaze sweeping from Darcy’s resolute face to Elizabeth’s equally determined one. “Your determination does not negate the potential for disaster. Your power can unleash destruction as easily as it can bring healing. Yet I see that I am not to sway you from this precipitous course of action. Your decision to venture into Newcastle appears quite fixed.”
“It is,” said Darcy firmly.
“And if wedoforbid it, Mr Darcy?”
Darcy seemed to choose his words carefully. “Then, my lord, the Office would have made its decree. And I,” he added, the weight of unspoken implications hanging in the air, “would find myself in a most untenable position.”
“I see.” Lord Magister Theron regarded them steadily, and then began to speak, his tone shifting into the precise, formal language of an official statement. “Given the current, deplorable state of Newcastle, the extreme virulence of the Blight in that region, and the risk for catastrophic failure – a repeat of which, I must emphasise, the realm can ill afford – I must state my intent to issue a formal interdiction against this journey. The Concordance represents a unique and valuable asset in our war against the Blight. To risk its destruction, to risk your lives,would be an act of strategic negligence. This Office cannot permit it.”
He paused, allowing the weight of his pronouncement to settle. Elizabeth’s heart sank.
The Lord Magister continued, “Such an official edict, properly drafted, witnessed, and sealed, will likely take some days, perhaps even weeks, to reach Pemberley.”
He paused again, and for the briefest moment, the corner of his mouth seemed to twitch, a fleeting movement that could have been a trick of the shimmering water. And then hewinked. “Until such time as that formal, written prohibition is delivered into your hands, Mr Darcy, you remain, of course, a gentleman of your ownconsiderableagency.
And before either of them could respond, his image abruptly dissolved.
Elizabeth blinked, her mind racing to process the layers of meaning in the Lord Magister’s pronouncement. Beside her, Darcy looked utterly dumbfounded.
“I think,” said Elizabeth, a growing understanding lighting her own eyes as she met Darcy’s stunned gaze, “that we had best depart for Newcastle with all considerable haste.”
As they emerged once more into the courtyard, a sight met Elizabeth’s eyes that made her pause in surprise.
Georgiana, no longer the trembling invalid, was mounted upon a spirited grey mare, handling the reins with startling skill and confidence. Her earlier pallor was replaced by a becoming flush, her eyes, though still shadowed by illness, now sparkledwith animation as she guided the mare through a series of graceful paces.
She was, Elizabeth realised with a start, an astonishingly accomplished horsewoman, her connection with the animal a display of intuitive harmony. Colonel Fitzwilliam stood nearby, observing his young cousin’s equestrian display with an expression of affectionate admiration.
Beside her, Darcy let out a sigh, a sound that spoke of resignation, old pain, and perhaps, Elizabeth dared to hope, a reluctant stirring of pride.
“That mare is Artemis,” he said, his voice low, his gaze fixed on his sister and the grey horse, “I gifted her to Georgiana for her twelfth birthday. She always possessed a remarkable affinity with her.”
He seemed to shake himself then, the brief reverie broken, and strode forward towards the carriage.
His voice, when he spoke, had regained its authoritative timbre, though perhaps lacking some of its earlier edge. “It is past time we departed,” he announced to the assembled company. Georgiana reined in the mare, and a groom stepped forward to take Artemis’s bridle. “The hour grows late, and the journey to Newcastle is a considerable one. The carriage awaits.”
Colonel Fitzwilliam looked from Georgiana to Darcy, his eyebrows arching in a silent enquiry. He had clearly anticipated a resumption of the earlier, rather heated, debate regarding Georgiana’s inclusion in their party.
Darcy, however, merely offered his cousin a look that was a mixture of weariness and an impatient desire to avoid further conflict. “After speaking with the Arcane Office, I find myself in no mood for further argument, from any quarter. We are going to Newcastle. All of us, it now appears, in my coach.” He cast a resigned glance towards Georgiana, then back to Fitzwilliam. “Let us proceed without further delay.”
A slow grin spread across Colonel Fitzwilliam’s face. “Well, I’ll be,” he murmured, shaking his head in disbelief. Then, with a hearty chuckle, he declared, “I never thought I should live to say it, Darcy, but three cheers for the Arcane Office! It seems their particular brand of bureaucratic torment can, on occasion, yield surprisingly agreeable results.”
Darcy scowled, though Elizabeth thought she detected the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips.
Soon, they were settled in Darcy’s comfortable coach with Darcy and Elizabeth on one seat, facing Georgiana and Colonel Fitzwilliam on the other. The atmosphere within the carriage was uneasy as the heavy wheels began to rumble. Georgiana sat quietly, her hands clasped in her lap, her gaze drifting towards her brother with apprehension. Colonel Fitzwilliam, for once, seemed content to observe rather than fill the silence.
As they passed through Pemberley’s gates, Elizabeth reached out, her hand finding Darcy’s beneath the rug that lay across their knees. She gave his hand a discreet squeeze, an expression of gratitude for his act of grace.
He did not look at her, his gaze fixed on the dwindling sight of Pemberley, but his fingers, strong and warm, closed over hers.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
