“Roses and duels,” he murmured. “How very romantic.”
She glared at him. “Do not make light of this, sir.”
He spread out his hands. “My humble apologies. My tongue got the better of me.” He gave her an intent look. “You say the duel is in the rose garden. Do you remember what I told you about the limitations of my mirror magic?”
“Of course. You told me that you could not go beyond the walls of the house.”
“Precisely.”
She was so intent on her own train of thought, it took her a moment to register his meaning. She staggered mentally under the realization.
“Then show me what is happening inside the house.”
De Riquer spoke some words, then waved his hand in front of the mirror.
“It should work now. Think of a place inside the house.”
She envisioned the breakfast room. As the swirling fog slowly faded, the room came into view. There was no one there. It was dark and empty
“Now think of the garden.”
She recreated the walled garden in her mind, with the climbing roses, and the green grass, and Darcy facing Devereux. The mirror resumed its milky swirling, but nothing appeared in its depths.
She still did not quite believe de Riquer. “I would like to try it myself.” Ifhecould use magic inside the Wards, then so could she.
He stepped aside. “Be my guest.”
She stood in front of the mirror, determined to use her own magic to force her way to the garden, even if the Wards did not allow it. She threw herself into the task, straining to make the mirror do her will. She tried to cast a spell of her own, then she tried to combine spells she had learned, all to no avail. Her magic simply did not work. The mist continued to swirl, but the surface remained opaque, unyielding.
“How ironic. Your own Wards are restricting your magic.” He was looking both amused and intrigued.
“I do not find that particularly diverting at this point.”
He shrugged. “It is useless to try in any case. The mirror simply does not work outside.”
It galled her that she had to depend on him. She imagined the breakfast room again. It re-appeared in the mirror, still empty. She could step into it and find a way to get back into the garden from the breakfast room. But the footmen would stop her, and she would have to grapple with them. Still, they would not be able to prevent her from Bonding with Darcy. She had to get out of the cellar.
“Help me go through,” she said.
De Riquer shook his head. “Think before you do that. You need to know first who is trying to kill both you and your husband. Your life may be in danger. Ironically, you are safer here. You should not leave until you have a good plan.”
She ignored him. De Riquer tossed the cloth onto the mirror, and the spell ended, preventing her from stepping inside.
Elizabeth glared at him. “Why are you stopping me from rescuing my husband?”
“What makes you think youcanrescue him? Or that he even wants you to? A gentleman has his pride.”
His words made sense. Darcy had asked her not to interfere.
The wind left her sails, and she slumped down, deflated. Why did men have to be so stubborn? And how could Darcy expect her to remain confined, her feelings preying upon her, doing nothing?
But what else could she do? Now that she had calmed down, she realized it would be better not to set up a Bond with Darcy when he was not expecting it. That was what had injured Bingley and the others. She certainly did not wish Bingley’s affliction upon him.
Apart from that, what could she do?
She looked towards de Riquer. He had stopped her. What if he was up to something, and he did not wish her to discover it? What if he had cast a Compulsion spell on Devereux?
There was only one way to find out. No mage could disguise their magic signature. They could dampen it. They could hide it. But they could not change its character.
