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She grasped his face in her hands. “And why not? Any foe who is as evil as to steal the powers of others will use underhanded means to defeat me or you. A real duel would not be fairly passing spells back and forth as though we were trading ribbons. You did exactly what you were supposed to do, and I made a mistake. As I said before, I learnt a valuable lesson. I shall need to ignore what is happening around me in favour of my opponent. This man I am to face will not stop at a stunning spell. Such a mistake during a duel could cost me my life.”

Her explanation made perfect sense, but he still was not satisfied.

He had hurt the lady he loved. Even if the harm was inadvertent and necessary, his insides roiled.

Now, he must aid her in recovering from the spell.

Stunning would cause headaches and body aches.

A potion would be beneficial, but he had not seen one hint of potion-making supplies in the cottage.

How was that possible? Their cottage was part of a magical holding after all.

“I need to make a potion. ”

“Papa does not keep any supplies here. Since someone using this place is rare, he does not want to have to maintain two stores. If certain herbs go bad, it can be costly.”

Some ingredients were quite expensive, so Bennet’s reasoning did make sense. “I saw a pen and paper in the escritoire. I shall return in a moment.”

He strode to the small desk and tore a smaller piece of paper from one of the sheets. The ink was not dried up, so he dipped the pen into the bottle.

“I require a rejuvenation potion for Elizabeth. While practising, she was hit with a stunning spell.”— F.D.

As soon as the pen was returned to the holder, he waved the paper to help dry the ink, then set it flat on the desk. He hovered his hand over it, closed his eyes, and pictured Mr. Bennet’s desk.

“Seol.”

When he opened his eyes, the paper was gone. He and his father would send notes to each other within Pemberley, but even in magical families, one used the post for most of their correspondence. If you accidentally misdirected your letter, anyone could get their hands on it.

He returned to the chair and lifted Elizabeth so he could once again have her in his lap. “How is your head?”

“Not any better.”

She rested her forehead upon his shoulder, and his thumb traced circles on her temple. “Breakfast will help. It should be sent to the kitchen soon.”

“Mmm,” was all she said. Soon after, her breathing evened. Sleep would help as well as allow her to escape the headache for a time .

He rubbed her head as he almost seemed to float in and out of sleep. At some point, he startled and looked about them. What was different?

With care, he lifted Elizabeth and laid her on the sofa, then crept around the room. Naught had changed in here, so what had caused him to wake so abruptly?

He made his way to the kitchen, and on the board were the usual trays of breakfast. Beside the coffee pot was a familiar vial with a glowing liquid inside—the potion he had requested. He brought the first tray into the parlour and set it on the low table near the sofa.

“Elizabeth, your father sent the potion. Wake up.”

She frowned. “My head.”

“I know.” He sat her up. “But if you take this, it will be of aid.”

Her hand pressed to her forehead while he uncorked the vial and brought it to her lips. She swallowed without hesitation, and he held his breath while he waited.

A minute later, she straightened. “You were correct. That was of great aid. Now that the blinding headache is gone, I am hungry. What did Mrs. Hill send us?”

“She sent sausage, eggs, and toast today, as well as a couple of muffins and a pot of jam with the coffee. What would you like? I shall serve you.”

“Fitzwilliam, that is not necessary.”

Despite her assurances that stunning her had not been his fault, he could not dispel the heaviness in his chest. He had hurt her. He could never tolerate causing her harm if he could help it.

“I wish to do it.” He handed her a cup of coffee. “Sip on this while I retrieve the other tray. I shall return in a moment.”

When he returned, he fixed a plate but did not hand it to her. Instead, he forked some eggs and held the food in front of her.

“Really, I am well. You need not feed me. ”

He shrugged one shoulder. “It is of no concern. Allow me to care for you. I need to do so after what happened.”

She sighed. “Very well. But do remember this should I ever hover over you when you are ill.”

He allowed a hint of a smile. “I believe having you tend to me would not be objectionable in the least.” How could he take issue with Elizabeth mopping his brow? If she was in her nightgown or clad in her dressing gown, he would never reject her ministrations.

“Just remember this when I make you a tonic or a tisane. Some of the most effective taste rather foul.”

He stroked her leg. “But with you administering them to me . . .”

“Rein in your enthusiasm for me, husband. I should prefer to eat before whatever is running through that mind of yours.”

He laughed and held up another forkful of food. “As you wish, my dear.”