Chapter 1

“What colour is Mr Bingley, Charlotte? Does he match Jane?”

Charlotte chuckled at Elizabeth’s insistent question, but answered readily enough. “I should say so. Their auras are so alike, that I can hardly tell where one ends and the other begins. They are both bathed in the light, bright, sparkling pink glow of early infatuation.”

Elizabeth bounced lightly on her toes, unable to entirely quell her excitement at Jane’s prospects. “I knew it! He has such happy manners. So much ease with such perfect good breeding—and he loves animals! Was there ever a more perfect complement for Jane?”

“He speaks so fondly of his dogs that I daresay he is becoming one. Look at how he follows your sister about the room, begging for her attention.”

Elizabeth managed to suppress her laugh at Charlotte’s observation, but only just. “I suppose Jane would do well with a puppyish sort of man, and he could do worse than a wife who can tell him his beloved pointer’s every thought.”

“There are no two opinions about that,” agreed Charlotte with a hint of a wry smirk. “After all, it is a truth universally acknowledged that a Familiar in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a magically Gifted wife. I should say that a man as fond of his hounds as Mr Bingley has every chance of happiness with a wife who can communicate with animals, and her chance of happiness with him is equally great. They could marry tomorrow and I daresay they would be sufficiently pleased with their choice in the long term.”

Elizabeth shook her head and a soft snowfall of lavender petals rained down around her, freshening the air with their delicate scent. “Oh, Charlotte, it is far too soon to say that, but I will agree that they are off to an excellent beginning.”

“They are, however…”

“However?”

“I see a few splotches of melancholy blue mixed into Mr Bingley’s aura. He is smitten with your sister—there is no doubt on that score—but I sense that he is undecided as to her feelings for him. Jane would do well to show him a bit more affection if she is to properly secure him.”

Taken aback, Elizabeth disputed, “But if a woman is partial to a man, and does not endeavour to conceal it, he must find it out.”

“Perhaps he must, if he sees enough of her,” Charlotte conceded with a raised brow. “But his aura does not lie; I see flashes of blue whenever Jane is particularly reticent, or when she shows attention to another gentleman. Regardless of whether or not they suit enough to marry, she ought not waste her chance to at least get to know him better. It does her no harm to reveal a bit more of her heart to a man she likes and who likes her in return.”

Elizabeth bit her lip, the belief in her angelic sister’s perfection warring with Charlotte’s practical observation. Every woman’s adolescence began with the conferment of a magical Gift, some more beneficial to her prospects than others, and Charlotte’s ability to understand a person’s feelings and intent through the colour of their aura had never been wrong.

After a thoughtful pause, Elizabeth replied, “I shall speak to her about it. I would not have Jane disappointed due to her own reserve.”

“Speaking of reserve,” said Charlotte, lightly nudging Elizabeth’s arm with her own. “I see Mr Darcy staring at you again.”

Elizabeth turned her head in the direction indicated by Charlotte’s fan and spotted the gentleman in question against the far wall. His eyes darted to the side, but not before her friend was proved correct: he had been watching her. Most ladies would be flattered by any attention shown to them by such a tall, handsome, eligible man, but Mr Darcy had wounded Elizabeth’s vanity and she was not yet inclined to forgive him for it. Indeed, she was perfectly content with their mutual dislike.

“Bother! I thought I had shaken him. What can he mean, following me about the room and listening in on my conversations? I can hardly suppose that he is now inclined to ‘give consequence to young ladies with frivolous Gifts’ or that I am now ‘tolerable enough to tempt him.’”

Elizabeth’s Gift was hardly frivolous, as Mr Darcy had ungenerously accused. The ability to grow various plants in her hair had proved a great benefit to her family and the general area; Longbourn never ran out of tea leaves, her mother’s nerves were frequently soothed by her magic-infused smelling salts, and most importantly, they always had herbal remedies available to those in need. Had Mr Darcy asked the local apothecary, Mr Jones, for a recommendation, he would not have belittled her talents so readily. Certainly, her Gift had its limits, but that was not uncommon; ladies would not require a Familiar husband at all if they could manifest the true depths of their abilities without one.

Charlotte flicked open her fan to disguise the smile she shared with Elizabeth from the rest of the room. “Oh, Eliza! You are far too harsh. Mr Darcy could not possibly have known the extent of your Gift at the time, and he never meant for you to overhear.”

“I fail to see how either of those things is a proper defence for what he said or how he has treated me since. He glares at me as if I am the most puzzling oddity he has ever seen! If he continues, I shall certainly let him know that I see what he is about.”

“Do you see what he is about?” The quirk of Charlotte’s lips expressed a palpable smugness to Elizabeth.

“I suppose you are about to enlighten me,” she replied, caught between amusement and exasperation. “Tell me, what colour is Mr Darcy’s aura, and what can you divine from it?”

“When Mr Darcy is not looking at you, his aura is a deep forest green, similar to the coat he is wearing.” Elizabeth discreetly observed the gentleman and his coat, admitting secretly to herself that it became him very well. “This indicates that he is responsible, supportive, and intelligent—an excellent complement to your naturally whimsical purple hue, I might add.”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, which were a bright, verdant green. Coincidentally, she was sure. “Charlotte, really. Green and purple could not be more different from one another.”

“And yet, they look so very well together! They need not be exactly alike to pair harmoniously.” Before Elizabeth could do more than stutter in protest, her friend continued, “Regardless, when Mr Darcy looks at you, a deep pink suffuses his aura. It is not so bright as his friend’s, and it shimmers rather than sparkles, but I think this speaks more to his nature as a complex character than any lack of sentiment. And—oh, Eliza, you have turned absolutely red!”

“In the face or aura?”

“Both.”

“No small wonder, when you are speaking utter nonsense. Mr Darcy does not admire me! I am not ‘tolerable,’ remember? Even if I was, my Gift is ‘frivolous’ and not at all worth his time.”

It was impossible, it had to be! She could not truly be the object of admiration to a man such as Mr Darcy, one who had already dismissed her in a painful fashion. She had, initially, taken part with the rest of the room upon his entrance at the Meryton assembly and considered him a handsome, intriguing man, only to be unfairly maligned by him later in the evening. After the insult, it became far easier to detest him in order to protect her more tender feelings, so Charlotte’s news that his opinion might have suffered a revolution was unwelcome, indeed.

“You are the one being nonsensical, Eliza, not me. Why should a man look at a woman only to find fault? Is it not more probable that he would prefer to study her charms rather than her deficits? Do you not agree, Mr Darcy?”

Elizabeth felt a surge of alarm so severe that she knew her aura must be harsh on Charlotte’s eyes. It was enough to cause one of her curls to spring free of her coiffure and sprout a chain of purple Forget-Me-Nots along its length. When she whirled around and discovered that Mr Darcy was, indeed, hovering at her shoulder, a few leaves sprouted to accompany the flowers, rendering her somewhat dizzy from the energy expenditure. Or perhaps it was Mr Darcy’s presence which caused the mischief.

Mr Darcy glanced in Elizabeth’s direction before he addressed Charlotte. “I am afraid that I did not catch what you said, Miss Lucas.”

Elizabeth’s relief was overpowering. She withdrew her fan and began furiously wafting her reddened face, hoping to cool her mortification. Mr Darcy leant in closer, his eyes half-lidded and intensely focused upon her, and she took a step back. A moment later, the gentleman seemed to come to himself and stood straighter, putting a more proper distance between them. Elizabeth could not read his aura, but his cheeks appeared faintly pink.

“I was attempting to persuade Eliza to perform for the company,” said Charlotte, her eyes darting back and forth between her companions. She had a self-satisfied air about her. “She has a lovely singing voice and I promised my father that I would encourage her to take to the instrument tonight.”

“You are a very strange creature by way of a friend!” Elizabeth fondly accused with a chuckle. “Always wanting me to play and sing before anybody and everybody! However, I will indulge you, since you are full of flattery for my talents this evening.” And I would very much like to sit down before I swoon. ’Tis quite hot under Mr Darcy’s scrutiny and making so many flowers in a single evening has taxed my constitution.

So saying, Elizabeth hastily excused herself to the pianoforte, glad for some distance between herself and the enigmatic gentleman from Derbyshire. Surely Charlotte was mistaken—if not about the colour of Mr Darcy’s aura, then the meaning of it—but she would make a point of avoiding him for the rest of the evening. She had often been envious of Charlotte’s ability to sketch characters through use of her Gift, but Elizabeth had been happier not knowing the purport of Mr Darcy’s stares.