Page 4

The crisp evening air greeted Fitzwilliam Darcy as he slipped from the door at the back of Netherfield and with a quick step, started in the direction of Oakham Forest. When he reached the fields, the remnants of this autumn’s wheat harvest crunched beneath his feet.

He took in a bracing inhalation. His soul rejoiced at being out of doors and out of Netherfield.

Since his arrival, Miss Caroline Bingley had been following him like a dog in heat, and he had been at his wit’s end to escape her clutches.

Much to his relief, the Bingleys and the Hursts had departed the day before for Stonehenge, which had given him a reprieve, but today, leaving the house provided him the additional respite he required.

As he rode, he had passed villagers who had come to make their offerings of libations to the trees, pouring cider, mead, or water upon the ground around their trunks. Some harvested from a cluster of apple trees along the south side of the forest.

Since the earth was nearing its time of rest, all and sundry prepared for winter by drying and storing from the harvest. Those in Meryton were doing the same as what occurred in Lambton this time of year.

He had never missed an equinox at Pemberley before, but he had an obligation to fulfil in Hertfordshire this year, and while he could have delayed this until closer to the winter solstice, something in him itched to satisfy a certain curiosity.

Little contact had occurred between Mr. Bennet and him in the years since Fitzwilliam’s father had died.

Of course, their lack of correspondence had been part of the plan to help protect Elizabeth.

Their betrothal had been arranged while she was in her cradle, but while it had been known that his marriage had been arranged long ago, the identity of his bride was a well-guarded secret to most. Mr. Bennet had not wanted Elizabeth to be forced to wed at too young an age.

Fitzwilliam, however, was more than ready to marry.

His sister required the steady presence of an older sister, and he required an heir. The time had finally come.

He lifted the hood of his cloak while he continued towards Oakham Forest. He had never visited the stone circle here, though he had read of the site in his father’s journals.

The pull of the power in its midst steered him as he wound through the trees at the periphery of Netherfield’s fields.

As he walked, voices could be heard in the distance; villagers who were also going to the circle to celebrate.

Bingley and his sisters had chosen Stonehenge since the “fashionable” people were to gather there.

Miss Bingley had been put out that Fitzwilliam had chosen to remain behind.

Her presence, and that of the ton , were all the more reason to do so as far as he was concerned!

As he drew close, a creature bounded before him, making him jump back.

His jaw gaped at the sight. A white stag?

Those were exceedingly rare. When he stepped further into the trees, the creature took one step closer, then another.

Fitzwilliam extended his hand, and a prickling shot up his arm as he drew closer.

Someone had levelled a protective spell upon the animal, and a powerful one at that .

The stag eyed him in a way that unnerved him before it closed the distance between them and sniffed Fitzwilliam’s outstretched fingers. The air glimmered as they drew close to each other. The great beast had been shielded as well. Why was it he was able to see the animal?

“I shall not harm you. I can only assume Elizabeth cast the spell to protect you, but do you protect her as well?” He spoke in low, soothing tones. He had no desire to frighten the beast.

The magnificent animal snorted and threw his head up and down before he crept a bit closer. He nuzzled Fitzwilliam’s hand for a moment, but soon, his head lifted with a start before he bounded back into the trees.

“I wonder if Elizabeth has entered the wood,” he said softly.

He allowed his hand to fall before he walked towards the centre of the forest. He had just crossed a small brook when he came to an abrupt halt. “Blast, I forgot a log for the fire.”

His eyes darted to take in everything around him as he continued.

After a couple of minutes, his gaze landed upon a fallen limb off to the side.

The large branch appeared to have broken upon its impact with the ground and several pieces were suitable for his purpose.

He noted one thicker piece about three feet long.

That piece would do nicely. After all, he could not appear at an Autumn equinox celebration without an offering for the fire. He would be considered rude indeed.

He removed his gloves and shoved them in his cloak pocket before picking up the sizeable log and returning to the path.

After about four minutes more, a clearing became visible through the trees. People had already gathered, and a bonfire was being set up in the middle while offerings of leaves, nuts, apples, and candles had been set upon the altar.

“Mr. Darcy,” exclaimed Sir William Lucas, a portly gentleman who stood near the logs as they were being arranged.

“I see you have come to join us for our Mabon [3] celebration. You are quite welcome, of course! The Bennets have yet to arrive, but I believe most of the village has come for the festivities. Have you met Mr. Bennet yet? I should be pleased to introduce you when he arrives.”

“I thank you for your kind offer, but my family has been acquainted with the Bennets for generations. I am certain that when the time is right, Mr. Bennet and I shall speak.”

Sir William pressed his palms to his broad waist with a booming laugh. “Yes, yes, I am sure you will.”

All around them quieted as an unusual warmth filled Fitzwilliam’s chest and gooseflesh covered his neck.

As he glanced around, those in attendance had all turned to greet a gentleman and his wife who had just entered the clearing.

They were followed by five young ladies of varying age from a tall blonde who appeared to be the eldest, to a shorter, stout young lady near the back who could be no more than sixteen.

The man was older and wore half-moon spectacles that were perched on the mid-point of his nose.

On his arm was an attractive lady whose red curls framed her face well and who also seemed to enjoy being the spectacle of the moment.

She nodded to her neighbours as she entered the circle.

“Ah, there is Bennet now. Good, we can proceed.”

While Sir William shuffled away, Fitzwilliam’s gaze flitted over the tall blonde who stood directly behind her mother, but he did not spare her a second glance. His gaze was drawn to the smaller lady to her side. Everything in him locked onto her. He could not look away.

She seemed petite to him, but he was six foot three. Most ladies were small when compared to his stature. Despite that the hood of her pristine white cape was up, her auburn curls could be discerned as they framed the edges of her face, and her eyes sparkled in the dim light of the setting sun.

Her head lifted a hair, and she frowned.

As she turned in his direction, he remained rooted to the spot when their gazes collided.

The warmth inside him burned a bit brighter, and gooseflesh now covered him from head to toe.

He had never experienced anything similar to this.

Did she feel that too, or was he alone in his response to her presence?

Their gazes held while her family shifted to the front of the group, Mr. Bennet taking his place behind the altar.

“Good evening. . .”

If Fitzwilliam had been asked later to repeat the ceremony and the words Mr. Bennet must have said before and after, the task would have been impossible.

Oh, he turned to face north, south, east, and west with the rest of the group when the time came, but otherwise, he was completely distracted by the lady standing four feet ahead of him and slightly to his right.

Two or three times she turned and glanced at him, but never for long before she returned her attention to her father. As soon as the bonfire was lit to complete the ceremony, the families all set themselves on blankets to enjoy the feast, each family adding a dish for all to consume.

Fitzwilliam stood near the edge of the celebration until Elizabeth rose, her white cape making her easily identifiable as she entered the woods. He followed behind her at a slight distance while she wove through the trees until the white stag from earlier stood before her.

She approached the great beast without hesitation and stroked his head. “I know you are behind me. Why have you followed?” Despite her obviously speaking to Fitzwilliam, she remained petting the stag’s head, her back facing him .

“I thought perhaps you had cast his protection spell. Now I am certain of it.”

“What makes you believe I am capable of such magic?”

He stepped closer, so he could speak more freely. “Because I know you bear the mark of the Bennet heir on the inside of your arm, Elizabeth.”

She pivoted in place and quirked one eyebrow. “What makes you believe that?” Her voice was softer this time.

“Do you not know?”

Hesitant steps brought her to stand even closer. “If I indeed bear the birthmark you speak of, would my father not have declared it to the world by now?”

“Not if he wished to protect you for as long as possible.” She had not answered his question. Did she not feel in her bones who he was? He had been aware of her in an instant.

“And now you are meant to protect me as well, are you not?” So, she did know who he was.

“If you will allow it.”

“Do you mean I have a say? According to my father, I have no choice.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Does he know you are here?”