Page 23 of The Magic of Pemberley (Fitzwilliam Darcy, Mage #2)

Chapter 23

E lizabeth frowned at the two-day-old newspaper. It carried a brief report of a failed assassination attempt on Napoleon and a fire that had destroyed his apartments in the Tuileries, but its headline was about the dragon companion Lady Amelia Fitzwilliam who was offering her assistance to the War Office in setting up defenses against invasion. The ensuing article failed to mention Granny’s advanced age or Welsh connections. According to Frederica, it was solely meant to reassure the worried populace that they had matters well in hand. There had still been no direct word from Granny in London, which was a worry in itself.

But it was nearly sunset, and she had no more time to read. It had started to drizzle, so Elizabeth wrapped herself in a cloak and hurried out to the covered arbor. Would it be more of the same tonight, with Darcy reporting he was trying to get home? It had been a week since he had sent the message about Napoleon. If his escape had been going according to plan, it should have taken him no more than a day or two to reach the Channel.

At the last two sunset contacts, she had sensed a hint of desperation in him, but perhaps she was only imagining it because she was worried about the delay. Tonight she intended to ask what was going on. Not knowing was driving her mad .

She took out the dragon scale and rubbed it, letting its smooth warmth and the reflection of the fading light in its iridescent colors soothe the edges of her anxiety. Soon. Any moment, and he would be there.

The scale flared to life, the dragon magic thick between her fingers. She reached out. What is happening?

Nothing.

No response, no beloved presence, no sensation of oak trees in a summer grove.

She rubbed her hand over her suddenly tight chest. This was it, what she had dreaded every day as sunset approached. The night when he did not answer.

It was not the end, she told herself fiercely. She had prepared herself for this, too, with all the reasons Darcy might not respond on one particular day. He could be in company where he could not take out the scale. He might be seizing an opportunity to escape that happened to fall at sunset. Or someone could have stolen the scale from him. It did not mean he was dead, that she was a widow.

Except that she knew it was the most likely explanation. Darcy would have done his utmost not to miss their connection. Somehow he would at least have touched the scale, even if he could not compose a message. If he had not, something was terribly wrong.

She sank back on the bench, rubbing her arms and rocking back and forth, as if anything could comfort her in this agonizing moment. It could not be. It could not.

How could she live in a world without him?

Frederica gave it half an hour. It was not unusual for Elizabeth to dally a little after her contact with Darcy, but the rain was coming down in buckets now. And she had read the newspaper, too, about the massive manhunt for Napoleon’s attempted assassin .

A word to the butler was enough to send the footmen out searching for Elizabeth. Just to look for her, of course, and report back without speaking to her. It did not take long for Hobbes return with the news that Mrs. Darcy was in the arbor in the rose garden.

She put on her pelisse and headed out into the storm, using just enough weather magic to keep the worst of the rain off her. At least the rose garden was nearby.

There she was, curled into a ball on the bench in the arbor. Frederica’s heart sank, both for Elizabeth and for her poor cousin in France. This had always been the most likely outcome, but still, it was heartbreaking.

She put her arm around Elizabeth. “Come, let us go inside,” she said gently. “For your child’s sake. We cannot have you falling ill.” She knew better than to suggest doing anything for Elizabeth’s own health.

“There was nothing,” Elizabeth choked. “And do not tell me there may be other explanations.”

“I would not dream of it. Come now. The conservatory door is open, and there is no one there to see you.” She knew that for certain, since she had told Hobbes to keep everyone away.

Elizabeth did not move.

Best to call in the reinforcements. Quickthorn? Could you tell Cerridwen that Elizabeth is terribly distressed? Darcy was not there for their sunset sending, and she thinks he must be dead. And I cannot get her to come in out of the rain.

I will tell her to come. And for once there was no sarcasm or irritability in her dragon’s sending, just sympathy.

“Now you have to go in, for Cerridwen will be here soon, and she will be terribly cross if you are still out here in the rain,” Frederica told Elizabeth.

“Nothing matters,” Elizabeth sobbed.

“Well, then, nothing can matter inside, too. Come.” And this time she pulled on her hand.

Apparently Elizabeth did not have the stamina to fight, for she followed, right out into the downpour, not making even an effort to shield her head. They were both dripping by the time they reached the conservatory. She led Elizabeth like a child through the rows of fruit trees, into the main house, and to her rooms.

There Chandrika took over, taking off Elizabeth’s wet clothes and leading her towards an already drawn hot bath.

Elizabeth balked. “No. Just let me go to bed.”

“I cannot, Mrs. Darcy. We must get you warm, for the baby’s sake,” said Chandrika firmly. “I will hold your hand as you step in.”

Frederica suspected they would be using that argument a good deal.

She had envied the love Darcy and Elizabeth had shared, and she grieved the lost potential when Roderick had refused her. Watching Elizabeth now, she wondered if she had been the lucky one.

Then she went downstairs and informed the butler that Mrs. Darcy had just received news from home of the death of a dear friend, and that she would likely not be herself for a few days. He would spread the news, and no one would remark on her behavior.

It was a good thing being a truth-caster did not preclude telling lies.