Chapter 6

Darcy’s heart pounded against his ribcage as his hand hovered between them, awaiting Elizabeth to take it. Now that the moment was upon them, she appeared to hesitate, which he fought not to take personally; it was no small thing to throw away one’s reputation, even for the greater good.

He observed her closely as different emotions—helplessness, resentment, fear—swept across her face before determination won out. Elizabeth closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, releasing the breath with a shudder. When she opened them again, the courage she was so known for had replaced her apprehension and she reached for him with nary a tremble.

Though Darcy had steeled himself for the impact, he found himself still unprepared for the onslaught. This was far more than the mere glancing touch of the week previous; their palms were pressed flat against one another’s and, at the first surge of magic, their fingers convulsively intertwined into a tight knot. It was incredible and entirely overpowering.

Through the haze forming around his mind, Darcy distinctly heard Elizabeth whimper. He forced his eyes, which had reflexively closed at the initial wave of sensation, to open and gauge her condition. She was glowing almost too brightly to look at, but he forced his watering gaze to focus. Her jaw was clenched almost as if she was in pain and her hair was again growing wild—leaves, fruits, flowers, all of it seemingly random and out of her control. Soon, the greenery began to wither and brown as if dying off, almost like it were burnt by the heat of a late summer sun. Elizabeth herself was beginning to wilt, leaning towards him as if about to collapse under the weight of her hair.

Darcy had to do something. Enchanted lavender aside, he was unwilling to sacrifice Elizabeth to this endeavour, especially when she was already risking so much. He could feel her determination and her despair and he would not allow the latter to prevail.

“Elizabeth.” When she bore down harder on his hand but did not respond, Darcy repeated her name with more force. “Elizabeth! Look at me.”

Elizabeth’s eyes opened, though they flinched as if they longed to close again immediately. “I cannot…control it…”

“Yes, you can.”

“I cannot!”

“You can, I say. Allow me to help you.” With that, Darcy concentrated his own energies on calming the flow of magic betwixt them, channelling it into a smoother stream. The unrestrained power fought him, but he would not submit. He would be an immovable force, a dam, and ease Elizabeth’s burden. It was what a Familiar was meant to do, both enhance and support his magically Gifted partner.

At length, the magic had no course but to bend to Darcy’s will and it evened out into a controlled, if still eminently potent, flow. The tension in Elizabeth’s shoulders eased and her features relaxed. The growth slowed until it stopped altogether and, with another deep breath, resumed. This time, delicate buds of soft purple began blooming all along the length of her hair, displacing the withered leaves. The subtle aroma of lavender scented the air around them and the room was filled with Elizabeth’s warm glow.

“Yes! Elizabeth, I knew you could do it. You are magnificent.”

Elizabeth’s mouth flickered in a smile and she squeezed his hand, but did not otherwise speak. He could feel her gratitude through their connexion, even though she could not speak it aloud at present.

Eventually, Elizabeth’s hair was so full of lavender that the brown of her tresses was almost entirely obscured by it. Darcy released her bare hand, but maintained a gentle grip on her sleeve-covered elbow and led her to a sofa. The maid—entirely forgot during their efforts—rushed forward to assist. Darcy sent her off for shears and anyone she could scare up to assist in pruning the fruits of Elizabeth’s labour.

Taking the cushion next to Elizabeth’s, Darcy encouraged her to rest her weary head against his shoulder. The petals rustled and fell from her hair like snow as she followed his direction without contest, visibly weary. Unable to help himself, Darcy pressed a light kiss to her forehead and felt the spark of her relief. “You have done well, Elizabeth.”

In a soft voice, she gently countered, “We have done well, Fitzwilliam.”

It took the better part of an hour to remove all traces of the lavender from her hair, and almost twice as long to parcel out the bundles to those in need, but finally the deed was done. Elizabeth had never felt so weary in her entire life, not even after the bout of influenza in the year nine which had beset half the neighbourhood. At least then the cases had been spread out and she had only needed to produce tea leaves; bushel upon bushel of magical lavender had quite taken everything she had, even with Mr Darcy’s—Fitzwilliam’s—help.

As for that gentleman, Elizabeth could barely stand to look at him for the overwhelming bashfulness she now felt. Not only had she proposed a scandalous solution to their problem, but forging a Familiar connexion to him had been…oh, it had been everything! Calling him by his Christian name had felt entirely natural to her in the wake of such intimacy, though of course she should not have taken the liberty. What must he think of my presumption? It was impossible to know without touching his bare skin again, and she would not compound her sins with more wanton actions. Though how badly she wished to!

Ever since she had received her gift at fifteen, she had avoided the barehanded touch of unrelated men—her father and uncles could not affect her, of course—and she had been wholly unprepared for the experience. A single taste of Mr Darcy had whetted her appetite, and now she was entirely ruined for any other man. Elizabeth sighed despondently. Not that any man will have me now.

She glanced his way and found Mr Darcy’s back turned to her as he conversed with Mr Jones by the open doorway, enabling Elizabeth to look her fill. Having been made acquainted with his deeper essence, she now knew that he was honourable enough to propose marriage to her, but the guilt churning in her gut told her that she must refuse him. He might not have meant those cruel words from the assembly, but she was still a penniless nobody from nowhere important and his pride must rebel at the thought of taking her to wife. He did not deserve to be saddled with a woman he never would have considered but for the dire situation in which they found themselves. On the morrow, once they had both received a proper night’s rest, she would release him from all obligation and hope that society would be forgiving enough to concede that she had done only what was necessary.

When Mr Darcy and Mr Jones turned in Elizabeth’s direction, she quickly closed her eyes and pretended to be asleep. She had no reserves left for conversation and hoped they would respect her wish to rest. She heard the drawing room door close softly and breathed a sigh of relief.

Upon opening her eyes, she was startled to see Mr Darcy standing before her, his brow wrinkled with concern. “Are you well?”

“Oh, yes, quite well. Merely tired, that is all.” She pretended a yawn for emphasis. “Now, I believe I shall be off to bed and?—”

“Wait a moment, please. I should like to speak to you first.” So saying, Mr Darcy lowered himself awkwardly onto one knee and cleared his throat. “Miss Elizabeth, I?—”

It was absolutely necessary to interrupt him before he could say more. Her aching heart demanded it. “Oh, I beg you would not, sir! Truly, you have no obligation to me, none whatsoever, for it was my own doing which ruined my reputation and you are not at fault. I would not wish you to be punished for heroically doing what needed to be done.”

Mr Darcy’s expression folded into one of confounded surprise. “It was you, not I, who behaved heroically today. Why should you be punished instead of me?”

“Because it was all my idea!”

“Perhaps so, but it was an excellent one and I have no regrets for participating. Besides, I should hardly consider marrying a beautiful, Gifted woman a punishment.”

Elizabeth’s face grew so warm she wondered if she might be glowing again. “You cannot mean that, sir. You, who might have ladies of better fortune and standing than myself. No, I cannot ask you to make that sacrifice.” With tears brimming on her lashes, she looked away from him.

“Elizabeth,” Mr Darcy softly replied. The next moment, Elizabeth felt a pleasant shiver as the pad of his bare thumb wiped the moisture from her cheek. “You must know that a powerful connexion like ours does not occur every day. To the contrary, most Familiars and their wives enjoy, at best, a cordial relationship, free of any true attachment. When I touch you…to say it is nothing I have ever experienced is a vast understatement. Please, do not dismiss me because you consider yourself a burden upon my honour; my feelings are so much more than that. Only the very deepest love could possibly produce what we have shared, I am convinced of it. I beg you, do not leave me in agony, consent to be my wife.”

Daring to meet his gaze, Elizabeth saw the sincerity glimmering in his earthen brown eyes. Still hesitant to believe that he could really mean it, that her greatest wish might actually come true, she reached out and brushed his bristly cheek with the backs of her fingers. The jolt which flared between them put paid to any further doubts; their souls were each the second half of the other’s.

Though she knew that Mr Darcy could feel her answer before she spoke it, she replied in a trembling whisper, “Then yes, I shall marry you.”

When he leant forward and kissed her, the resulting surge of magic was the most potent one yet.