“That would match what Mrs Darcy has sensed,” said Darcy, “They were trying to burn away the vine without seeing the root. This changes our approach. We cannot simply pour power into this ley line and hope it flushes out the corruption. We must first sever these parasitic tethers at the nodes, or our efforts too will only feed the darkness.”
“You had best be certain of every cut,” Wickham said grimly, “Newcastle’s magical geography is unusually dense. Many of England’s ley lines can be traced here. A mistake could cause a catastrophic sequence of failures that would extinguish the lines in a dozen other cities, all in the name of saving this one.”
He fell silent for a moment, then knelt, scooping up a handful of what looked like solid earth. He held it out for them to see, then slowly clenched his fist. The earth dissolved into a greasy black dust that slipped through his fingers, leaving a foul stain on his palm.
“And that is the true deception of this place,” Wickham continued, his eyes taking on a haunted quality. “You plan to fight what is here, but the danger is in what has been taken. I can feel it in the currents. The sickness doesn't just choke them; it hollows them out, twisting their very nature into a vacuumthat craves life. A misstep will cause a collapse, pulling the magic from every connected line into this void.”
Elizabeth turned a startled look upon him. It was a magic she understood far better than her husband’s disciplined command. It was the intuition that felt a sickness in the soil that no text described, a power that answered to emotion rather than to rule.
“You are able to sense these currents, Captain Wickham?”
“I can feel what’s left of them. It should be a deep, warm hum, but now all I feel is a broken stutter. A painful vibration, just under the skin.”
“Like a presence you are unable to quiet,” she said, as a prickle of unease traced up her spine. His words stirred something within her, something she could not easily dismiss.
“A presence, yes. And a deucedly inconvenient one, most of my life.” Wickham’s expression hardened with a flash of old resentment. “I have always had a certain feeling for the earth’s magic. A talent that my patrons at Pemberley found more troublesome than useful.” And here he threw Darcy a look, which was ignored.
Elizabeth watched him, the initial prickle of unease deepening into an unwelcome recognition. The way he spoke of the land’s magic, not as a force to be commanded, but as a presence to befelt, was an echo of her own resonance.
It was a deeply unsettling feeling. This resonance, this shared perception, created an immediate feeling of kinship with a man she had every reason to mistrust. Her mind catalogued all of Darcy’s warnings, all the evidence of his past deceits, yet her own instincts were drawn to his words.
Even if every word of insight from Wickham was shadowed by the question of its true purpose.
She tore her gaze from Wickham, deliberately looking towards Darcy. His expression was pensive as he studied the ruins.
“Then we must approach with caution,” he said finally. She recognised the bruise of Buxton in his voice, a flat sound, heavy with the guilt of fire and failure. “Let us consult the maps and form a plan before we proceed further.”
Dinner was a distracted affair. Afterwards, the men converged upon the maps spread across a corner table. Earlier in the afternoon, they had already agreed upon a strategy of which nodes they believed were of primary importance to be addressed based on their connections to the other ley lines running through England, yet it seemed restlessness had rekindled the debate.
Elizabeth, wishing no further part of returning to the same arguments, found herself with Georgiana by the meagre fire. She moved her chair a little closer, creating an intimate space within the larger, tension-filled room. She attempted to steer their conversation towards the safer, familiar ground they had established at Pemberley — comments on London fashions, enquiries about a piece of music — but it was a futile effort. Georgiana’s gaze kept straying towards her brother.
Seeing her distress, Elizabeth abandoned all pretence of light conversation. “Georgiana,” she said, in a murmur to keep their conversation unheard by the others, “Forgive my forwardness, but it pains me to see you so. Is it very difficult, seeing them in the same room?”
The direct, empathetic question seemed to be the key Georgiana needed. “It is a constant reminder,” she whispered, her eyes shimmering, “of the man I thought my brother was and the man I believed George to be. A difference I did not trulyunderstand until it was too late.” She drew a ragged breath. “It was only a few weeks after we had married that George began to tell me the truth of it all: the gambling debts, the indiscretions, the many betrayals. And I was not certain if he spoke from a place of guilt, or,” a flicker of her old, Darcy pride sparked in her eyes, “from a cruel need to taunt me for my foolishness.”
“I admire that you have forged a life with him. It could not have been easy,” said Elizabeth gently.
Georgiana looked at her, and to Elizabeth’s surprise, a defiant flush tinged her cheeks. “It felt impossibly difficult at first,” she admitted, “When we left Scotland, we had nothing. Fitzwilliam had, quite rightly, refused my portion. George was in trouble again with his debts. The army was the only refuge left to him, the only place his creditors would not follow. So he enlisted. And he began to change. I think it was the first real responsibility he had ever had in his life. The discipline, the structure…he railed against it initially, of course, but his superiors saw his value. They found uses for his charm and his cunning. He was sent on difficult reconnaissance missions, tasks that required a man who could talk his way out of any situation, and he excelled. He took such pride in the commission he earned.”
The word “earned” struck Elizabeth hard. She looked at Georgiana’s earnest face, and the painful magnanimity of Darcy’s act became breathtakingly clear. He had not only purchased the commission that had given them consequence and something to live on, he had gifted Wickham the illusion of having earned it himself.
Georgiana, oblivious to her realisation, continued her heartfelt narrative. “So yes, it was difficult at first. How could it not have been? I thought I loved him, but he married me simply to hurt my brother.”
Her heart ached for the younger woman, but Georgiana said it without flinching.
“But in this past year, in the face of all this suffering, something has grown between us, something real. George is not the man Fitzwilliam believes him to be. Not anymore. I have seen a tenderness and courage in him. The responsibility of his rank has changed him. Being a husband has changed him.”
As Elizabeth listened, she felt some of her distrust, however reluctantly, giving way. This was not the deluded infatuation she might have expected. Georgiana spoke of a difficult partnership forged in hardship. It was the testimony of a woman who had seen the truth of her husband’s character and still found something changed enough to be worthy of her loyalty.
“You showed faith in him when no one else did,” she said, “even when he showed you the worst of himself. When he had proven himself unworthy of anyone's trust, you chose to offer him yours all the same. It is a wonder your spirit withstood such a trial.”
A sadness settled over Georgiana. “The truth is, a part of me broke completely,” she whispered. “I once had a gift for healing, but that ability fractured the moment I betrayed Fitzwilliam. All that remained was a shadow of what it had been.” She looked back at Elizabeth, her eyes brimming. “I had to learn to bear pain as others do, without that solace. But what else was I to do? Surrender to bitterness? To self-loathing? Faith was the only choice that allowed for hope.”
Elizabeth’s heart clenched. “Oh Georgiana,” she said sympathetically.
Georgiana looked down. “But I know Fitzwilliam will never forgive George, and he will never forgive me for betraying him. I do regret the pain I caused him.”
The raw grief in her voice was undeniable. Elizabeth squeezed her hand. She was surprised by a gentle warmth thatemanated from the younger woman’s skin, a soothing pulse that seemed to blunt the sharpest edges of her own heartache. “Georgiana, if you would only speak to him, then I believe he would forgive you.”
