Spellbound at Pemberley by Reynolds Abigail

Author:Reynolds, Abigail
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: White Soup Press
Published: 2023-12-05T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 18

Elizabeth looked up from her book as a footman entered the room, carrying a silver salver.

“Your post, Mrs. Darcy,” he intoned.

At last! Her incipient headache from squinting at the faded Arabic text forgotten, she reached out eagerly for the letters. Jane’s handwriting was on one, and Aunt Gardiner’s on the other. Disappointment pricked at her.

Not that she was unhappy to hear from either of her loved ones. Letters from home were a rare pleasure, but she was desperate for replies from Granny and her father. She had filled pages to them begging for advice on illusions. She could say nothing of Darcy’s mission, of course, but she had implied his safety depended upon their answers.

Perhaps her father might have added something to Jane’s letter. Elizabeth broke the seal and began to scan through it, jumping to the end, reserving her sister’s words to read through and savor later. There was a different hand at the end, but it was Mary’s spiky writing, telling of her packing for London and her excitement over learning to use her newly-discovered Talent.

Even that small bit of news brought back poignant memories of Longbourn. Oh, how she missed her family, not to mention the useful employment that had filled her hours there!

She shook her head briskly. She would not give in to low spirits. Hundreds of thousands of men had given their lives to defeat Napoleon. If losing her home and her landed Talent was the price she had to pay, so be it. She would find a way to make the best of her new life.

“Do you mind if I join you?” It was Darcy’s voice, coming from the doorway.

She turned to him in pleased surprise. “I would be glad of it. I thought you would still be practicing your illusions.” That was how he spent his days, in a clearing halfway up the ridge where no one could see his efforts and wonder why a landed Talent was practicing magery.

“I have a letter to write,” he said. “To London.”

To the War Office, then. Darcy was always careful with his words when a servant might overhear. Fear twisted in her stomach. “I hope you have not received ill news.”

He studied her with a frown, but then his face relaxed. “Nothing that would have any immediate impact on me, but the news is rarely good these days.”

The knot inside her loosened. He was not called to his mission yet, then. And she could ask him more questions that night, when he came to her bedroom, their only real time alone.

Her cheeks grew warm. He might be nothing more than a friend who shared her bed, and one with whom she must be cautious at that, but those times were the highlight of her days. Not only for the exquisite love-making, but because of the conversations they shared afterwards, lying together in bed, about his training and what she was learning in her books.

He must have seen something in her expression, for he came closer

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