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She shook her head. “I am merely suffering from the effect of the revulsion potion I drank this evening. Mr. Wickham attempted to bewitch me while he spoke of you slandering him. I first noticed the foul taste in my mouth then. His smile when you confronted him was enough to make me heave.”

“Did you not understand how the potion worked?”

“I read the grammar from cover to cover two days ago, and I re-read the portion on the potion before I brewed it yesterday. Nothing in the text speaks of the taste becoming stronger or even overwhelming as the person enchanting you continues.”

The more of the punch she consumed and the longer she was away from Mr. Wickham, the more her nausea subsided. She had only taken a sip of the draught, and the results had exceeded her expectations. She was fortunate she had not taken more.

“Did the potion itself taste bad?” asked Fitzwilliam.

“No, it was actually rather tasteless.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “How much did you make?”

“A small cauldron-full, but I did not consume all of it.” Why was he asking her so many questions?

“What did you do with the excess?”

She pulled open her reticule and held up a small bottle of green liquid. “I brought some in the event I needed to take more.”

With a wide grin, he lifted her hand and placed a loud kiss on the back. “What if we pour it in the punch?”

Her chin hitched back a hair. “But no one will know why they are suddenly ill or have a rotten taste in their mouth.”

“No, but the effect does render his charm ineffective, does it not?” He took the bottle.

She gave a start. “You are right. I was never swayed to believe his tale.”

He grabbed her hand and brought her back inside.

She slid her hand to his elbow, so they were more proper when they entered her aunt’s small drawing room.

The Gouldings’ son was spooning punch into a cup, but as soon as he hurried back to Maria Lucas, Fitzwilliam stepped up to the bowl and uncorked the bottle.

At that moment, Lydia guffawed at something Mr. Denny said, and the entire room looked in that direction. When Elizabeth returned her attention to the bowl, Fitzwilliam had already poured half in the punch. The second half drained quickly, and he re-corked the bottle and slipped it into her hand.

While she returned the empty bottle to her reticule, he took the ladle and swirled the contents before pouring a fresh cup that he handed to her. His eyes shifted towards Lydia, and Elizabeth could not help but grin. Fitzwilliam could scheme when necessary!

She moved to stand behind her sister and bent forward to place the cup next to her. “Here, Lyddie. I thought you might be thirsty.” Elizabeth held her breath. Had she gone too far using Lydia’s childhood nickname?

“La! I am parched,” said Lydia. She drank down the entirety and set the glass back on the table. It was all Elizabeth could do not to let her breath out in a rush. Lydia drank it! Now to see if Wickham would approach her or share his lies with others.

She and Fitzwilliam returned to the window seat while the remainder of guests continued to mill about or play cards.

Mr. Wickham returned to Miss King for a time before fetching her a glass of punch.

Fitzwilliam’s breathing paused as the lady took a drink from the glass.

She then sipped while she and Mr. Wickham spoke.

After almost ten minutes, Miss King turned a violent shade of green, shoved the empty glass into his hands, and dashed for the door.

Her uncle noted her abrupt departure and made to follow.

Meanwhile, Mr. Wickham was left holding the glass with his forehead furrowed.

The shaking of Fitzwilliam’s shoulders could be seen out of the corner of her eye, and she had to press her own lips together to keep from laughing at the picture before them. Mr. Wickham had no idea what had just happened.

As the night wore on, Mr. Wickham attempted to talk to others, and it was obvious whenever he attempted to use his ability.

Anyone who he hoped to charm would first smack their lips then wrinkle their nose.

Most seemed to excuse themselves to speak with someone else, but one or two made their way outside for a few moments before returning.

They usually sought out someone new to converse with. Miss King never returned .

“It never occurred to me that he could vary the intensity of his enchantment,” said Fitzwilliam softly.

She gave a light laugh. “I should feel some remorse for making poor Miss King sick, but I cannot.”

“If she stays away from him because of our efforts, then the potion in the punch was worth it.”

“But we do not know how long the potion remains effective. If he calls on her tomorrow, she may not have the same response.” Each solution had a certain amount of time it worked at full potency.

After, it might not produce the desired response or only have partial results depending upon how much time had passed since it was consumed.

“As much as we want to protect everyone, we cannot. Your brilliant efforts tonight helped ensure most of our friends could not listen to Wickham’s lies. I am fortunate that I shall soon call you wife. ”

She had never before so wished to be alone with Fitzwilliam. If no one else was around, she would kiss him senseless. What other way could she show her appreciation for his sweet words?