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"Lizzy, you always look beautiful. Please, we have all taken a turn. Well, apart from Mary, and she was never going to engage in what she perceives as immoral behaviour. Do it for me?"

"For me? Goodness, I had not realised you were so superstitious, Jane."

"As you say, it is just a bit of fun."

"Oh, very well. What do I do again?"

"Just sit here, and make sure the candles are positioned like this." Jane moved the candlesticks slightly so that they stood evenly on either side of the looking-glass. "Now, look into the mirror and speak these words."

She opened the little book and read aloud:

"Midnight mirror, burning bright,

Chase away the shadows of the night,

Show me the face of my husband dear,

And let his image now appear."

"Very poetic," said Elizabeth dryly.

"Come now, Lizzy. You must say it properly."

Elizabeth sighed, then slowly repeated the words she had heard her sisters say before her and looked into the mirror. It was strange, gazing into the glass in such a dark room, with only the two candles illuminating the space. She could see the ghostly outline of her own face, the vague shapes of the furniture behind her and nothing more.

"My dear husband is very late, sister," she said with a laugh.

"Oh, Lizzy, just look!"

"Very well." She took a deep breath and returned her gaze to the glass.

Then she saw him. A face appeared in place of her own, so clear and distinct that she recognised it immediately, as though the gentleman himself were standing in the room. Elizabeth jerked backwards, horrified. It could not be.

"This is some trick!" she cried, turning to Jane. "Are you all playing a trick on me? Is Lydia hiding somewhere? How can this be possible?"

"What do you mean?" asked Jane, her pretty face scrunched in confusion.

Elizabeth blinked twice and looked back into the mirror. He was still there, as stern and haughty as ever–the handsome, sober face of Mr Darcy. Of all the gentlemen in England, she could think of no one she would be less inclined to marry. Well, perhaps one, but that was hardly the point.

"I am either very tired or this spell is fatally flawed. I believe I just saw the face of Mr Darcy. Is that not the silliest thing you have ever heard, Jane?"

She looked up at her sister, whose expression had grown wide-eyed and serious. "Really? You saw Mr Darcy?"

"Yes, Jane. Mr Darcy. Quite unmistakably. I should know that disagreeable expression anywhere."

"Goodness, Lizzy. And the way he looks at you! I had suspected, but never..." Jane broke off, looking rather thoughtful. "Do you know what this means?"

"I suspect it means very little," said Elizabeth briskly. She returned her gaze to the mirror, which now showed only her own reflection, and concluded that she must have imagined the whole thing. She was clearly far too tired, and her brain was playing horrendous tricks upon her.

"Did you read all of this?" asked Jane suddenly, opening the book and turning to the page Lydia had referenced.

"I did not read it at all. I left that particular task to Lydia. Why?"

"Because there is more to it."

"More? What more could there possibly be?"

Jane frowned down at the page. "The spell does not merely reveal the gentleman you are destined to marry. Apparently, you must also kiss that person within four and twenty hours of seeing his image, or you are fated to marry the very next gentleman who proposes to you."