Happy Monday! We’re getting into the unposted chapters in our book preview. I’m working on getting all of the particulars (including the cover) finished for the release on the 11th. If I can get a preorder up, I will, but I hit my head on a bookshelf last week and have had to adjust how often I work at a time so I don’t get a headache. The book is proofread, and I have plenty of time to get it up on Kindle so I’m not worried. I rested most of the day on Friday and have felt much better since. With the time away from the screen and concentrating, which has been what’s made it ache more than anything.

Now! Since we’re on Chapter 2, if you missed the prologue, click here; Chapter 1, click here.

Chapter 2

21st of September 1811

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.

He had spent a prodigious amount of time riding the fields atop his stallion Hengroen[1] during the past two days. This morning, after racing through the fields, he had skimmed the wood along the edge of Netherfield’s lands. The magic from within the forest was strong, the pull it created similar to that of Nine Ladies on his own lands in Derbyshire. Of course, the stones were emanating more power due to the equinox; the strength of the draw would fade after a week or so.

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 forest.

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

He allowed his hand to fall before he continued 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[2] 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?”

“He has not come to Netherfield to greet my friend Bingley yet, so I do not believe so. We are not faithful correspondents. We had no wish for the betrothal to be discovered as it could compromise your identity as the heir. You know as well as anyone that there are always those watching who would wish harm on those who wield their power for good. We could not be too careful.

“I confess I came in the hopes of catching a glimpse of you. My parents told me of you, but what they knew was mostly from your birth or tales your father and mine exchanged when you were young.” He often had dreams of her: when she felt strongly about something. A number of times, he had seen bits of their future. Visions of what was to come could change, so as much as he had come to anticipate those sights, he did his best to tame his heart—to tame his expectations and not become attached to her or what he saw. He refused to be heartbroken if she decided against him.

“Pray, do know that I believe this marriage would be what is best for the both of us, but I would not have you marry me for no more than obligation.”

She scraped her teeth along her bottom lip. “You are giving me a choice about whether I marry you?”

“Yes. And I assure you, I shall abide by your decision. You will always have any support and protection the Darcy family can provide. The bond of our families demands no less.”

She removed her glove and held out her hand, palm facing him. He nodded and stepped forward, so they were almost toe to toe. He removed one glove and drew back one side of his cloak. When she placed her hand over his heart, he covered it with his own.

Her gaze held his, though his body trembled at the surge of magic that accompanied her palm against his clothing as well as their ungloved hands. While she was now determining the truth of his heart, would this sensation occur every time they touched?

After a few minutes, she drew back. “I should like some time to consider what I shall do.”

With a nod, he put on his glove. “Am I allowed to do what I must to convince you of my suit?”

One side of her lips curved. “You hope to court me when you hardly know me?”

He shrugged. “Is it not the standard practice—to court a lady with the intention of coming to know her? You must be aware that I have my own reasons.” He would not speak to her of the visions he had seen—at least not yet.

“You will not disclose those reasons to me?” Her arms were again crossed over her chest while she spoke, but the barely there smile and the tilt of her head indicated more of a playfulness to her stance rather than a true challenge. His own lips quirked at her manner.

“No, I believe your continuing curiosity will be to my benefit.”

She bestowed a full smile upon him, and the effect was similar to the sun emerging from the clouds on a dreary day. “Very well. I suppose I shall allow you your secrets—for now.”

Without another word, she turned and began her return to the stone circle. His heart and soul pulled for him to follow, but he had done what he had intended—more, really. He had never meant to speak to her tonight, but fate had intervened. Now he must decide how to woo the fair Elizabeth Bennet.

~ *~

Elizabeth returned to her family and attempted to behave as though naught had happened when she entered the woods. Her father knew well that she would venture into the trees to seek out Herne, but meeting that gentleman was not what she had anticipated before departing Longbourn this evening.

Her insides had been tumbling and fluttering more and more as she approached the stone circle, and when they had entered the clearing, her entire body had erupted in gooseflesh. Had he experienced the same response to her proximity? She had never heard of the like happening before. What had caused such a response this evening?

The Darcy family held a history of powerful magic. Could her body have sensed the additional power? She never had such a reaction to her father’s presence, but she had been with him since birth. They were accustomed to the magic that radiated from each other.

The oddest part of the encounter had been that, even from the moment she set eyes on him, she had been acutely aware of who he was. No explanation existed for how, yet every tiny part of her screamed out that he was Fitzwilliam Darcy, the man she was supposed to wed. One thing was certain: he had not lowered the cape, but what she could discern of his face was pleasing. He was handsome and tall. Was it strange that she now longed to know what he looked like without the cape? He appeared as though he was broad shouldered and likely muscular. Why did that make her chest flutter more than it already had been?

Her father, who had been speaking to Sir William Lucas, glanced over at her and lifted one of his eyebrows. Did he know she would be approached tonight? Thank God he could not read the direction of her thoughts!

“Miss Elizabeth, your father was telling me you have made a study of your family history. ’Tis fascinating, is it not? It is no wonder the non-magical have been creating tales of Merlin and the Lady of the Lake for centuries.”

She smiled and shrugged as she joined the two gentlemen. “If only they had all of the particulars. I believe the truth to be more fascinating than anything that has been written thus far. Of course, my ancestor did not want a few of the specifics immortalised, lest the lady herself know of our existence before her demise.”

Sir William’s head jolted a bit to the side. “Forgive me, but I see Mr. Goulding. We need to discuss the matter of the spring that runs along the border of our properties.”

“No good will come of arguing over the matter, Lucas,” said her father. “I suggest the two of you agree to get along and share the magic. That spring is given freely by the earth for all to use. Its bounty is not meant to be owned and hoarded by one man. Those who share without reserve reap the benefits in the long run.”

The portly gentleman nodded in a twitchy manner. “Yes, I am sure you are correct. I shall attempt to smooth matters over with Goulding.”

As soon as the man was across the clearing, her father leaned in a hair. “Do you believe him?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Her father groaned and wiped his hand over his face. “The people of Meryton have used that spring for potions for centuries.”

“It would be a tragedy to have to hide it.” Magical springs often disappeared. No sooner had the Fountain of Youth been discovered in the Americas than it had been hidden because all and sundry sought it out as word spread of its existence.

He nodded while he glanced around them. “The hour is becoming late, and many are beginning to depart. We should as well.” He looked at her over his spectacles. “I do expect you to tell me what occurred with that young man who followed you from the stones.”

She arched her one brow at him. “Do you not know who he is?”

He offered her his arm. “I am certain I do, but I should prefer to hear it from you.”

Of course, he would, and he would not relent until she told him all.

[1] The name of one of King Arthur’s warhorses.

[2] A feast held around the equinox by the Druids. Pronounced Mah-bon in British English.

I’d love to hear what you think!