Chapter 4

Elizabeth’s heart was still fluttering as she opened the door to the stillroom, which led out into the garden, and crossed the threshold. Mr Darcy followed her at a respectable distance and she was glad for it; ever since Charlotte’s disclosures about the colour of the gentleman’s aura, Elizabeth had felt…unsettled about him. He had been in her thoughts for most of the night, the morning, and he had even caught her at it while sunbathing in the garden. She was eminently glad that gentlemen could not boast of magical Gifts themselves and so there was no chance that Mr Darcy could have seen the content of her mind as she soaked in the sun’s rays.

After opening the inside door to the passage, which was within an easy distance of the parlour and would prevent any claim of compromise, she sucked in a deep breath and steeled herself. She then turned round to face Mr Darcy, as composed as she was capable of being.

“Tell me of your troubles, sir, and I shall do my best to help. What seems to be the problem?”

Mr Darcy stood opposite her on the other side of the long worktable, apparently as cognisant of propriety as she. She noted that he wore a waistcoat in that becoming shade of green he frequently favoured and she glanced away in bashfulness.

“These past three weeks, I have been suffering from unusually persistent symptoms. Headache, nausea, dizziness…none of them terribly severe, but bothersome and unceasing. I have been to Mr Jones repeatedly and this morning he suggested that the cause might be magical and that you were the right person to treat my affliction.”

“I see. Is there anything which causes your symptoms to intensify?”

“Loud noises, heavy perfumes, excessive heat…I was quite miserable on the night of the assembly where we met, as you might imagine.”

Oh. Then perhaps that explains the…no, Lizzy, concentrate! “Have any of Mr Jones’s remedies helped?”

“Somewhat, but not as much as…” Of a sudden, Mr Darcy’s ears flushed brightly red and he turned his face away.

Elizabeth stepped up to the table, but kept it between them. “You may tell me, sir, and I swear that anything you say will be kept in the strictest of confidence. If there is aught that eases your suffering, I must know it so that I might tailor the remedy to your needs.”

“There are certain…scents which seem to help.”

“Such as?”

Mr Darcy paused for another awkward moment before confessing, in a mumbling whisper, “Lavender.”

“Oh.” Oh. It was Elizabeth’s turn to flush as the purport of her patient’s revelation occurred to her, as did his recent habit of following her about at social gatherings. She was perfectly aware that she emitted the scent of lavender wherever she went as it was her favourite herb to produce. Despite it being a flower, which were more complicated to create and therefore generally more taxing on her energy reserves, she was able, after a great deal of practice, to grow it without conscious effort on her part. Perhaps this explains his interest in me…could Charlotte have been mistaken after all?

Elizabeth shook away that surprisingly disheartening thought to focus on the issue at hand. “It does not surprise me that lavender provides you relief, sir. It has both natural and magical properties which make it an excellent restorative. If, as I suspect, you are afflicted by ‘bad air’, the lavender would also have a purifying effect on whatever malignant magic is making you ill.”

Mr Darcy appeared somewhat sceptical. “‘Bad air’? I have never put much stock in such insubstantial things.”

Elizabeth shook her head with a chuckle. “Does the term miasma suit you any better? It amounts to the same thing: you are surrounded by magic which is doing you harm. The more you breathe it in, the more ill you feel. The lavender will act as a protective charm and ward the miasma away, thus curing your illness.”

“So I shall need to carry it around with me everywhere?”

“That is the long and short of it, yes. I can create a boutonniere for your lapel which shall make it more convenient for you, but you will need to wear it so long as your symptoms persist. When the lavender wilts—which it eventually will, given that it is still a plant, in essentials—I can make you up more as you require.”

Mr Darcy was nodding along with her as she spoke, though he looked no happier about sporting flowers on his person for the foreseeable future. No doubt he would always look as if he were preparing to pitch woo at a lady, a stark contrast to the brooding haughtiness he generally projected. Elizabeth found herself amused by the image.

“Do I have your permission to proceed?”

“You do.”

Elizabeth nodded and then closed her eyes, concentrating on her task. Creating lavender was as easy to her as breathing, but imbuing it with magical properties required an extra effort. She wanted to make sure that the boutonniere not only served its purpose, but lasted longer than it was naturally inclined to do before wilting. Additionally, the magic needed to be strong enough to be effective, but not so strong that it accidentally worsened Mr Darcy’s condition. Magic gone rogue was a serious situation, indeed.

The tingle of magic flowed from her mind, through her veins, and into the coils of her hair. It felt much like the warm sunlight she absorbed in order to create her plants and she was told that she glowed faintly when she purposefully grew something, although she was always too involved in the process to have seen such herself. She had left one long curl loose at the base of her neck for the purpose of growing for Mr Darcy and, as she concentrated, she felt the vine of hair bear the fruits of her labour. Another few seconds and…there. Fully mature magical lavender.

Elizabeth opened her eyes and found Mr Darcy staring at her in that same stoic fashion she had come to expect of him of late. His gaze darted away almost the instant hers met with it, but there was no mistaking that she had caught him out. Choosing to ignore this, she cleared her throat and said, “Could you please pass me those shears, sir?”

Mr Darcy fumbled about him a moment before producing the shears. Elizabeth used them to snip the sprigs free, careful not to damage her hair in the process—for it took much longer to grow than anything it produced—and set about tying them up with a bit of green ribbon. The boutonniere hummed faintly with her magic and exuded a strong scent, so she felt the endeavour had been a success.

“Here you are, Mr Darcy. I hope this helps you, but do be sure to let me know if it does not and I can attempt something else.”

He thanked her and reached across the table to accept the boutonniere from her. Had Elizabeth not been distracted and somewhat tired from her efforts, she might have realised that Mr Darcy’s hands were bare and that she ought to have left the lavender on the table, but by the time she felt the first jolt of his Familiar magic it was far too late. And incredibly powerful.

The instant their skin brushed against one another’s, a current of energy flowed from the depths of his soul into every nook and cranny of hers, filling her with an ecstasy of sensation. It was mere seconds before she was overflowing with it and her Gift reacted explosively. Her hair, reasonably secured after meeting with Mr Darcy in the garden, burst free of its pins and spilled down her back like a mudslide. Leaves, vines, flowers, even berries—exceptionally difficult to create and usually crafted over several days of intense application—sprouted from every tendril with wild abandon. By the time she had wrenched her hand away, her head had sprouted at least a year’s worth of greenery and Elizabeth was left panting and limp with exhaustion.

Mr Darcy was staring at her again, and this time it was no wonder. She must look a fright with so much flora sprouting from her head, to say nothing of the intensity of their brief touch. Elizabeth now fully understood why a lady was never to touch an unrelated, unmarried man; the temptation to do it again and allow her Gift free rein could easily overwhelm her.

Dear Lord. She had touched Mr Darcy barehanded and, if it were known, society would expect them to marry. A woman’s Gifts were meant to be shared at the discretion of her family and Familiar husband only—certainly not with any and every gentleman who came along! Should anyone discover what had occurred, her reputation would be in tatters for Mr Darcy, with his great wealth and lofty connexions, would not wish to offer for a simple country girl.

She glanced at the open door to the passage and saw no one. Her mother’s laugh floated out of the parlour, where she and her four other daughters were presumably enjoying their usual activities, blissfully unaware of Elizabeth’s doings. It is not too late! I can run upstairs to my bedchamber and?—

“Miss Elizabeth…I…”

Elizabeth turned back to Mr Darcy, who was still staring at her with his mouth agape. Whatever he was about to say, whatever excuse he was about to offer, she did not wish to hear it. “Excuse me, sir, but I must leave now if we are to avoid detection. Forgive me for not seeing you out.”

And then she fled the room, rushing towards the servants’ staircase as if her hair were on fire rather than sporting the contents of an entire greenhouse.