CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
After finishing their breakfast, Darcy and Elizabeth lingered at the main table. He was not reading, nor staring into the distance, but watching her in that quiet way of his, a tender smile touching his lips as she took a sip of the weak tea.
Elizabeth felt his gaze and met it with a smile of her own, her heart performing a ridiculous, yet entirely welcome, flutter. For a few precious moments, the rest of the room, and indeed the world, seemed to fade into an indistinct blur. There was no Blight, no Arcane Office — only them, on the edge of a new and terrifyingly hopeful world.
But then from across the room, Georgiana shifted in her chair by the window, her teacup clinking softly against its saucer, a sound that drew Elizabeth’s attention. Nearby, Colonel Fitzwilliam cleared his throat, the sound purposefully breaking the stillness.
“Well, Darcy,” he said, in crisp, practical tones, recalling them all to the task at hand. “The third node at the old quarry remains. What is our approach? Another direct assault?”
Before Darcy could reply, he looked to Elizabeth, his gazeseeking her final assent. She gave a slight nod.
“Before we continue, Richard,” Darcy said, “we have a proposal to share. An alternative approach to the problem, you could say.” He paused. “But it is a conversation that requires all parties to be present. We should wait for Wickham.”
The colonel’s eyebrows shot up at this, his expression one of great scepticism, but he wisely held his tongue. As Darcy moved to confer with Georgiana, the colonel took the opportunity to lean closer to Elizabeth.
“I fancy I can detect your hand in this,” he muttered with good-natured exasperation. “Are we certain Wickham is not already halfway to London with Darcy’s purse?”
“Patience, Richard,” Elizabeth rejoined gently. “Perhaps Captain Wickham is merely conducting a crucial piece of reconnaissance.”
The colonel said, “Reconnaissance of the bottom of a tankard, I should wager.”
“A possibility I have not discounted,” she allowed.
They did not have to wait long. A few moments later, the door creaked open, and George Wickham entered. His dark hair was charmingly tousled, his cravat tied with a negligence that was almost an art form.
“Good morning. We were beginning to fear the day’s business would be concluded without the benefit of your counsel,” Darcy commented.
Wickham, recovering his composure with practiced speed, offered a lazy, charming grin as he poured himself a cup of tea. “And deprive you all of my wisdom? I could not be so cruel.” Then, after glancing around the room, he added, “What is this rather alarming display of domestic felicity I appear to have stumbled upon?”
Darcy said drily, “My apologies. I was not aware that a moment of simple peace would cause you such profound distress.”
Georgiana laughed, a sound that made her brother’s eyes soften with a protective tenderness. Elizabeth watched them, her own heart filling.
Then, the easy banter faded, and Darcy’s expression sobered. He looked at each of them in turn, his gaze lingering on his sister.
“Mrs Darcy and I have been considering our approach,” he began, his voice carrying a significance that instantly captured the attention of everyone in the room. “Our recent trials have led us to a rather unconventional conclusion. It has become clear that the old methods are insufficient for this fight, and that a new strategy is required.”
He looked at Elizabeth then, an invitation. She took a deep breath, her own heart pounding with a daunting sense of responsibility.
“What we have discovered,” she began, her voice steady, “is that our power, through the Concordance, formidable as it is, is incomplete. The Blight is a sickness of the land, yet we have no true healer among us. It is a cunning enemy of roots and deceptions, yet we have been fighting it blind, with no one who is uniquely attuned to its movements in the earth.”
She paused, her gaze sweeping over the room before settling, with intent, first on Wickham, and then on Georgiana. The implication was unmistakable. “We believe that the missing pieces are right here, in this room.”
Wickham stared at her, his teacup halfway to his lips, his easy mask momentarily slipping to reveal stunned astonishment. “You are suggesting, Mrs Darcy — with all due respect for your enthusiasm — thatI? That Georgiana?” He gave a short laugh and set his cup down. “My magic is a brutish thing.I haven’t the first notion of how to command it with any finesse. It is a useless trick at best.” He gestured vaguely. “I assure you it is ill-suited to an undertaking of such magnitude.”
“On the contrary, sir,” she interjected, her smile disarming his bitterness, “An intuitive sense of the land is exactly what is needed to fight a sickness of the land.”
Darcy, to Elizabeth’s quiet satisfaction, reinforced her words. “Wickham, you speak of your magic as a ‘useless trick’, but I remember it differently. I remember the unbridled force of it. When you rerouted the garden stream, you did not simply divert a trickle of water. You felt the aquifer deep beneath the ground and bent it to your will. It was disastrous, yes, but it was power. A primal connection to the land that I, with all my training, have never achieved the way you did when you were just a boy. You have always had an uncanny knack for the land. That is not a useless trick. Here, in this city where the land is dying, it may be a valuable gift.”
Wickham stared at him, looking completely speechless. He looked shaken. Almost hopeful, as if a bridge he had long believed burnt to ashes had suddenly, impossibly, been rebuilt.
“And Georgiana,” Darcy continued, “your magic is of healing, of life. This blighted world so desperately needs both. Perhaps it is time for you to reclaim your magic fully and let it shine once more.”
Georgiana looked at her brother, tears welling in her eyes. “Oh, Brother,” she whispered, “do you truly think so? After everything?”
Before Darcy could reply, Colonel Fitzwilliam said warmly, “Of course he does, my dear girl, and so do I. You possess a spirit more resilient than any fortress in this kingdom. Your magic is a reflection of that. It is a gift, and it is needed now more than ever.”
His words, so full of sincere confidence, seemed to bolster her.
