He had been planning to see Matlock first thing in the morning in any case, to tell him about Elizabeth. She had told him about her encounter with the Healers, and it had been on his mind all day. He had never seen her so shaken. Most of the time, she managed to laugh off any slights. Even Lady Alice had not rattled her so much. He supposed it was more hurtful when it came from someone she regarded as her friend.
In hindsight, it was easy enough to wish he had done things differently. Over the last three days, he had been hearing whispers, but he had dismissed them as ignorant nonsense. He ought to have taken them more seriously. He should have tried to stamp out the rumors before they had taken root, and he should have warned Elizabeth. Then she would been prepared for the ambush.
If the Healers were giving credit to such malicious accusations, then it was no laughing matter. Unfortunately, they were in a position to give the accusations credibility.
He would have liked nothing more than to storm over to the Healer’s Hall to give them a piece of his mind, but he knew very well it would only make matters worse. There would be talk of trying to conceal his wife’s mistakes, of coverups, and pressure from above.
He would present the problem to his uncle, who would hopefully come up with a way to handle it before it was too late, though Darcy suspected it would not be easy, now that the gossip had taken hold.
So, despite Evan’s protests at Darcy’s wilted cravat and dusty superfine coat, he set out for the library without changing. He rapped briskly at the door of the library and stepped in, determined to address the issue as soon as possible.
His uncle was at his old desk. Darcy had a tender moment of nostalgia, seeing him there again. It had been a while. He was transported to happier, less anxious times. After his parents died, he had spent many of his school holidays at Matlock House, since it was the closest to the Academy, and his sister Georgiana would join him here. Sometimes he went to Lady Catherine at Rosings, and on rare occasions, he visited Pemberley.
He had spent many an afternoon in this library. He would pick out books that struck his fancy, then spend hours reading at the bay window, or watching carriages and young ladies strolling by.
As he flicked his glance towards the window seat, traces of Elizabeth’s magic enveloped him, warm and inviting. He had been too preoccupied to notice when he entered, but there she was, sitting where a younger version of him used to sit, looking as if she belonged there. More than a dozen heavy tomes surrounded her, piled beside her and on the floor at her feet. She smiled when she saw him, the candlelight leaping and twirling in her dark eyes. His heartbeat bucked and bolted.
Last night she had slept in his bed, the ebb and flow of her breath a steady rhythm of enticement. He had not slept a wink. He dared not trust himself. He was afraid that, half-asleep, he would forget about the risks, let down his defenses and pull her into his arms. In the end, battling his craving for her, he had peeled himself away from her side as softly as he could and gone downstairs to sleep on the chaise-longue in the empty parlor.
Now here she was, driving all rational thought away.
“Good evening, nephew.”
His uncle was observing him, one of his eyebrows slanting upwards. Darcy dragged his attention from temptation to the matter at hand.
“You sent for me, sir?”
“Yes. I need your opinion on one or two things.”
“As do I.”
“Brandy?”
“No thank you.”
He did not need the haze of alcohol to cloud his brain. Not that he would be able to raise the issue of the rumors now, with Elizabeth here. He preferred to discuss it frankly, without having to tiptoe around the matter. It would be hard to do that without making her uncomfortable.
Matlock indicated for Darcy to sit down. Darcy considered sitting on the window seat next to Elizbeth but settled for the cold leather chair near the desk.
“You did a wonderful thing gifting us with a French prisoner, Darcy, but frankly, you also put us in a difficult situation. We have left him at Founder’s Hall for now because it is the most secure place for him to be, but the longer de Riquer stays there, the more he will endanger the Hall. The Imperial mages will come looking for him, of course. From all accounts, as well as being a powerful mage, he belongs to a noble family from Barcelona, which makes him a valuable prisoner. Eventually, we will conduct negotiations to exchange him for more than one of our own.”
Darcy frowned. “The name sounds French.”
“It is a very old family. As old as the Darcys.”
Of course, but Darcy was still not clear where this conversation was going. Did his uncle want Darcy to stand guard over de Riquer?
“I do not quite see what the problem is. I handed him to you on a silver platter.”
“Yes, yes, and His Majesty’s government is very grateful. But where in heaven’s name are we supposed to keep him? I have proposed to the Prince Regent to hold him in the Tower of London. The dungeons are damp, and since water weakens magic, it will be easier to keep de Riquer under control. But Prinny will only agree on condition that we have several mages stationed at the Tower, guarding him day and night.”
An impossible condition, of course. The Prince Regent obviously wanted to have his cakeandeat it. That was always the case, and it made protecting the Kingdom more difficult for the mages.
Matlock leaned back in his chair and took a sip of brandy, tapping the glass with his fingernails.
“I have explained to his Royal Highness that we simply cannot spare any mages at this time. We are short-handed as it is, but Prinny is adamant. So now de Riquer has become a liability.”
“Is there nowhere else he can be held?
