There were no rumors about Lydia's disappearance and return. Few would have known in the first place, of course, and of those that did . . .

Well, Darcy knew first hand that the fey could be very persuasive.

It was over. It was done. He had told her all he knew of what she was. He had put an end to Wickham. He could not possibly owe her anything, and he ought to put her out of his mind.

He thought of the way she had leaned in, the brightness of her eyes -

She haunted his dreams even still.

He tried half a dozen recipes for dreamless sleep, a dozen purification rituals to wash away enchantments.

The former worked, but it left him restless and distracted during the day.

The latter helped not at all.

"Maybe it isn't a spell," Georgiana whispered late one night after their guests had gone to bed. Darcy had been sitting at his desk in his study with his head in his hands, but he straightened quickly when he saw his sister. He had no wish to worry her.

At this point, though, it was likely too late for that. "If not a spell, then what?" he asked more harshly than he meant to. He softened his tone. "I have not forgotten what she is."

"You also haven't forgotten who she is," Georgiana pointed out. "I see your face when you think of her. You love her, don't you?"

"I would never endanger you by pursuing her," he said, which wasn't actually an answer at all.

Georgiana looked uncertain. "She didn't hurt us last time when I gave her permission to come in."

"She did not," he conceded. "But it would be an incredible risk nonetheless."

"It would make you happy," she said.

He rose and crossed the room to kiss her on the forehead. "I am already happy," he assured her.

It was almost true.

Dear Cousin Fitzwilliam,

After the events I related to you in my last letter, I find myself thinking of her more and more. I am beginning to doubt that it is a spell that so ensnares me. I know it is madness to consider more, and yet . . .

To my dear cousin,

ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? She's fey, Darcy, she can't be trusted. If I wasn't in France right now, I'd be halfway to Pemberley. Throw up a salt circle before you go to bed, make Georgiana promise not to let you out of the house unaccompanied, and for the love of everything sane, do not go near that changeling.

Fitzwilliam

My dear aunt,

With your great insight and perception, I am sure you noticed in our last visit that Darcy was somewhat out of sorts. I have now learned what the cause of that trouble is. A changeling has set her sights on him . . .

I am sure I can trust you to ensure Darcy's safety.

Your nephew,

Fitzwilliam

He was at Netherfield, doing his best to nudge Bingley towards Jane so that he could keep his promise to Elizabeth to repair the harm he had caused.

Not that nudging Bingley towards Jane was at all difficult. The only difficult part of the matter was maintaining his distance from Elizabeth and convincing himself that it was only for Miss Bennet and Bingley's sake that he'd come.

When that difficulty became too great, he removed himself to London and tried to convince himself that the fog of industry made him feel safer instead of painfully alone.

Lady Catherine's arrival did not actually help with that.

"Aunt," he said in some surprise when she swept into his parlor. "I had no idea you were in London."

"And where else should I be when that is where you are and you are in danger?" she snapped. "I could not risk leaving you alone after that unnatural girl - "

Darcy froze. "What girl?"

"The one who calls herself Elizabeth Bennet," she sneered. "I can only guess what unholy sound her true name might be."

Darcy's throat went dry. "You went to see her."

"I went to stop her," Lady Catherine said. "I could hardly do otherwise after what Fitzwilliam wrote me."

Darcy closed his eyes and reminded himself that he could not actually kill his cousin, no matter how tempting he made it. He had only been worried, and Darcy could scarcely blame him for it. "And were you . . . successful . . . in your efforts?"

"I could not find where she kept her spells," Lady Catherine admitted grudgingly. "When I confronted her directly, she refused to admit to anything. I pressed her most carefully; how she managed to evade me, I cannot guess. She claimed she had not laid any sort of magic on you at all, nor gotten another to do it, but of course that is nonsense. You would not be so enamored of her without its aid."

As a fey, she could not have lied. Hope began to rise in Darcy's chest.

"Even more direct action failed," she said. "Her wiles protected her."

He knew too well what direct action meant.

But it had failed. It had failed, and it was not magic that had tugged him towards her so insistently, or at least he was as sure of that as he ever could be.

He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "On the contrary, Aunt, I think you have done more good than you know. My head feels clearer than it has in months. I realize now what must be done; I will return to Netherfield to do so at once."

It was true, though like most of the fey's truths, it was not quite true in the way that he knew Lady Catherine guessed.

He walked down a dirt trail with only a fey in sight, and he was not reaching for his knife.

Madness, surely.

And yet not as mad as what he was about to do.

Elizabeth spoke before he could. "Your aunt visited recently," she said. Her hands twisted with uncharacteristic nervousness in her skirt. "She was very concerned for your health. I wish to assure you, Mr. Darcy, that I do not mean either you or your family the slightest bit of harm, and that I have not knowingly cast anything upon you. If there is aught I could do to help, however, I will do all in my power to aid you. I have little knowledge of such charms, but if my power can be of any assistance, you have but to ask."

"The offer is kindly made," he said, "but I believe my aunt to be in error about what ails me. I think now it is a concern far more common than enchantment." He stopped walking and turned to her. "Miss Elizabeth, I have long admired your grace and courage as well as your refusal to surrender who you are. That admiration has since grown in intensity until I know not what else to call it but love. Would you do me the very great honor of becoming my wife?"

Her eyes shone, but she took a step back. "But surely you cannot - "

"I may not be bound to the truth as you are," he interrupted, "but I am not in the habit of deceit. I assure you, I mean what I say."

She took a deep, shaking breath. "Then, Mr. Darcy, I must confess that you are not alone in your feelings. If you are certain that this is what you want, than I would be delighted to accept."

His family would think him entirely mad, he was sure, with the exception of Georgiana.

For the moment, though, he allowed himself to not care a whit.