33Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡAFt417EDev
Elliot returned to Longbourn late that evening, when the house had already sunk into a half-sleep. Only the sitting room light was on. His father, Mr. Bennet, sat in his favorite chair with his tablet, absorbed in some article. From him came the faint scent of Earl Grey tea and old paper, a smell that always had a calming effect on Elliot.
"London didn't impress you?" his father asked without looking up. "You smell like a bonfire where they burned down a library."
Elliot froze in the doorway. Sometimes he forgot how perceptive his father was, despite his studied indifference to everything happening in the house.
"Just tired," he answered shortly.
"Mm-hmm." Mr. Bennet finally looked up from his screen and peered at his son over his glasses. "Your mother is in raptures. James has gone to the Cotswolds with Mr. Bingley. She's already ordered champagne for the engagement. Michael found some sensational record in the church archives and now won't leave his room. Kit recorded a new track and demands everyone listen to it. And Lloyd posted a video from the Netherfield party that got twenty thousand views. Do you want to discuss any of this?"
"No."
"Excellent. Then go to sleep. You really do smell terrible. Bitter chocolate shouldn't be that scorched."
Elliot climbed the stairs to his room, grateful his father hadn't pressed further. He collapsed onto his bed without undressing and stared at the ceiling. The image still hung before his eyes: Darcy leaning toward that pale-haired omega. The tenderness in his eyes. The protective gesture with which he had shielded her from Elliot, as though he posed a threat.
Omegas with unstable temperaments ought to avoid stressful situations.
Elliot squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn't help. Anger and humiliation washed over him again, and his scent flared in the darkness of the room: bitter chocolate turned to scorched cocoa, smoke became acrid, old books smelled of mold.
He reached for his phone to distract himself and saw a message from Sheridan Lucas:
Heard James left with Bingley. Congratulations! Your mother must be over the moon. How are you? Haven't seen you in ages. Coffee this week?
Elliot smiled faintly. Sher always knew how to read between the lines. He was one of the few people with whom Elliot could be himself, no masks, no attempts to meet expectations. They'd been friends since childhood, despite the Lucas family being even poorer than the Bennets, and Sheridan himself an omega with an almost imperceptible scent and no prospects for a brilliant match.
Coffee sounds like salvation. Tomorrow?
The reply came almost instantly:
Library, 3:00 PM. I'll bring cookies. You look like you need cookies.
Elliot couldn't help but smile. Sher hadn't seen him in days, but somehow he knew.
***
The next day, the library smelled of old paper, dust, and silence. Sheridan sat at their usual table in the far corner of the reading room, surrounded by a stack of books and a thermos of tea. His scent, dried lavender, old paper, and cold tea, was unremarkable, calm, almost beta-like. A scent that didn't attract alphas' attention, which suited Sheridan perfectly. He looked up when Elliot approached, and his light hazel eyes swept appraisingly over his friend's face.
"You look awful," he stated bluntly. "What happened?"
"Good afternoon to you too, Sher." Elliot dropped into the chair across from him. "Nothing happened."
"You smell like a fire in an antique shop. The old books have turned to ash. Something definitely happened."
Elliot took a cookie from the box Sheridan pushed toward him and bit into it, buying time. Sher waited. He always knew how to wait. His lavender grew slightly warmer, the scent of patient understanding.
"I ran into someone in London," he finally forced out. "That arrogant alpha from Netherfield. Darcy."
"And?"
"And he was with someone. An omega. Beautiful. Clearly from his circle. He was..." Elliot broke off, not knowing how to express what he'd felt. "He was completely different with her. Warm. Attentive. His whiskey went soft, the earth came alive, even the honey emerged. But with me... with me he was like a block of ice."
Sheridan silently poured him tea. The scent of cold tea in his aura became slightly more bitter, a sign of contemplation.
"Elliot," he said after a pause, "you realize you're not angry that he's cold with you, but that he's capable of being warm with someone else?"
Elliot choked on his tea.
"What? No! I just... he called me unstable. At our first meeting. He doesn't even know me!"
"And it bothered you," Sheridan continued calmly, his lavender taking on a note of sympathy. "Because in some sense you're afraid he's right. Because of your... gift."
Elliot fell silent. Sher was one of the few who knew about his psychometry. Not everything, but enough.
"He's a hypocrite," Elliot finally said. "That's all. One rule for his own kind, another for everyone else."
"Perhaps." Sheridan shrugged, his scent of old paper intensifying. He always smelled that way when thinking through something serious. "But you said yourself James is having a good time with Bingley. And Bingley is Darcy's friend. Maybe you're judging too hastily?"
"Whose side are you on, anyway?"
"The side of common sense," he smiled, and the lavender brightened momentarily. "Which I always do. Listen, Elliot. You have enough real problems. This Mr. Darcy isn't one of them. Forget about him."
Elliot wanted to argue, but at that moment his phone buzzed. The message from James was long.
He opened it and began reading. With each line his face darkened and his scent grew more acrid.
"What?" Sheridan asked anxiously, his aroma trembling with concern.
"James writes that Bingley has other guests at his estate," Elliot said slowly. "His sister Caroline. And... Darcy. With a Miss Annabella de Bourgh. His cousin and, apparently, his fiancée."
"Well then." Sheridan took a sip of tea, his scent returning to its usual calm. "At least that's clear now. He already has a fiancée. Rich, beautiful, from his circle. A perfect match."
Elliot felt a strange tightness in his chest. He told himself it was just irritation. Just wounded pride. Nothing more.
"James also writes that Caroline Bingley keeps complimenting him, but in a sort of... unpleasant way," he continued, scrolling through the message. "As though she's appraising merchandise. And that Darcy hardly speaks to him at all, just nods and looks at him like James is a stain on his expensive suit."
"Delightful company," Sheridan observed dryly. "And what does James plan to do?"
"Run his workshop and come home. He says Bingley was very attentive and supportive when Caroline started expressing doubts about whether an omega should be 'doing such things.'"
They fell silent. Elliot stared out the window where wind chased autumn leaves along the path. Sheridan traced the rim of his cup with his finger, his lavender growing quieter, more thoughtful.
"Listen," Sheridan finally leaned closer, his scent warming again, lavender mixing with something comforting, "is your cousin still planning to visit next week?"
Elliot groaned.
"William Collins. Don't remind me. Mother is already planning dinner. She's convinced he's coming to look over one of us as a potential omega."
"And not without reason," Sheridan noted. "He's the only heir to your estate. After your father's death he inherits everything. Only an alpha can own an ancestral estate, those are the Council rules. Marriage to one of you would be a logical solution."
"Logical," Elliot repeated with disgust. "He's an alpha only on paper. I met him once as a child. He was... clingy. His scent was like wilting lilac and cheap aftershave lotion with some kind of dust. He reeked of falseness."
"Poor Elliot." Sheridan smiled, but his eyes held sympathy, his lavender acquiring a bitter edge. "Surrounded on all sides by unsuitable alphas."
"I'm not looking for an alpha," Elliot cut him off.
"Of course not," Sher picked up his book again. "It's just that sometimes alphas find us on their own. Whether we want them to or not."
Elliot looked at his friend. Sheridan Lucas was several years older than him, thin, with delicate features and intelligent, slightly sad eyes. An omega with an almost imperceptible scent—not a single alpha looked at him twice. Elliot knew Sher had made peace with his fate: a modest library job, a modest life, no grand prospects.
"What about you?" Elliot suddenly asked. "Did you ever want... more?"
Sheridan slowly looked up from his book. His scent sharpened for a moment, the dried lavender turning to ash.
"Wanting and getting are different things, Ellie. I've learned to work with what I have. It's called pragmatism."
"It's called surrender."
"Maybe." Sher shrugged, and his aroma returned to its usual calm. "But I sleep soundly. Unlike you."
***
William Collins arrived at Longbourn three days later, on Sunday evening, in a rental electric car that he parked as though it were a Rolls-Royce. He was exactly as Elliot remembered him: average height, soft features, thin fair hair beginning to recede at the crown. His suit was expensive but fit poorly, and his smile was too wide and too insistent.
But worst of all was the scent.
Even through the closed window Elliot could smell it: cheap aftershave lotion, which he'd apparently doused himself in from head to toe, couldn't hide the base. A weak, uncertain alpha aura that smelled of wilting lilac and dust. The scent of someone pretending to be stronger than he was.
"Dear aunt!" he exclaimed, throwing open his arms. Mrs. Bennet, despite obvious disappointment at his scent, embraced him anyway, emanating waves of cheap fruity perfume mixed with notes of sour grape and nervousness.
"William, dear! How you've grown!"
"And dear uncle!" William turned to Mr. Bennet, who'd risen from his chair with the expression of a man walking to his execution. His scent of Earl Grey and old paper became almost imperceptible.
"William." Mr. Bennet nodded curtly. "Are you staying long?"
"Oh, just a week! But what a week!" William finally turned to the brothers clustered in the sitting room doorway. His gaze slid over their faces, appraising and clammy, lingering on each slightly longer than necessary.
Kit stood behind everyone with headphones around his neck, and his scent of electricity, ozone, and chewing gum sharpened with rejection. Lloyd was already filming on his phone, barely suppressing giggles, his strawberries and spray paint bubbling with amusement. Michael sat in the corner with his tablet and didn't even look up, his dry wormwood and dusty parchment creating a barrier of indifference around him.
William's gaze stopped on Elliot.
Something in the air changed. The wilting lilac grew thicker, denser, almost suffocating. The dust in his scent became musty, like a crypt. Elliot tensed instinctively. His own scent flared in response: bitter chocolate turned to char, smoke went acrid, old books smelled of moldy rejection.
But William seemed to take this as a challenge. His smile widened.
"Elliot, isn't it? I've heard so much about you from your mother! So clever, so talented. And so... unusual."
The last word sounded as though he knew something no one else did. Elliot felt a chill down his spine.
"Pleased to meet you, cousin," he said as neutrally as possible.
"Oh, we'll get to know each other very well indeed," William assured him, and his hand briefly landed on Elliot's shoulder. "I have so much to tell you. About my work in the parish, about my... connections. Especially about my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh. She takes a great interest in omegas with special abilities. I think we'll find we have a great deal in common."
His fingers tightened slightly before releasing, and Elliot barely kept himself from recoiling. Cold spread through his body.
"Lloyd, put that phone away," Mrs. Bennet hissed, noticing her youngest son. "This instant!"
"What?" Lloyd didn't even try to hide the phone. "People love family drama. Look, I already have five hundred likes."
"Lloyd!" his father barked, and the scent of Earl Grey turned bitter.
The younger brother rolled his eyes but lowered the phone. His strawberry scent mixed with irritation.
"By the way," Lloyd whispered to Elliot as he passed, "that cousin smells like a dumpster behind a flower shop. Seriously, who buys that kind of lotion?"
At that moment Elliot's phone rang. He snatched it up, grateful for the chance to escape.
"Excuse me, I need to take this," he muttered and slipped out of the sitting room.
It was James calling.
"Ellie." His brother's voice sounded strange. Strained. His usually calm scent of acacia and milk seeped even through the phone—something was wrong. "Are you alone?"
"Yes. What happened?"
A pause. Too long.
"I... I don't know. Maybe nothing. But..." James hesitated. "I overheard a conversation today. Between Darcy and Caroline Bingley. They didn't know I was nearby."
"And?"
"Caroline was telling Darcy that Charlie... Mr. Bingley... has become too attached to me. That I'm sweet but completely unsuitable for him. That my family is too poor and vulgar. That I'm just looking for an advantageous match."
Elliot felt rage flare in his chest. His scent became almost toxic.
"And what did Darcy say?"
The pause was too long.
"He... agreed," James's voice trembled. "He said Charlie is too trusting and gets infatuated too easily. That he needs to be more careful with... with people like me. That the difference in our positions is too great, and my mother makes everything worse with her behavior."
Elliot pressed his forehead against the wall. The smell of bitter chocolate and smoke in the hallway became acrid, almost toxic, the old books turned to the ash of rage.
"That bastard," Elliot hissed.
"Maybe he's right?" James asked quietly. "Maybe I really don't..."
"No!" Elliot gripped the phone so hard it nearly cracked. "James, listen to me. You're worth ten of Darcy. Bingley sees that. Don't let that arrogant bastard convince you otherwise."
"I don't know, Ellie. Maybe I should just leave. Not wait until the end of the weekend."
"No. You're going to run your workshop. You're going to show them all what you're capable of. And then you'll come home with your head held high. Agreed?"
James sighed.
"Agreed. Did William arrive?"
"Just now. And he's already unbearable."
"Just... be careful. I love you."
"I love you too."
When Elliot hung up, his hands were shaking with fury. Darcy. Darcy again. This man who considered himself qualified to judge others, to decide who deserved happiness and who didn't.
Elliot returned to the sitting room, where William had already made himself comfortable in the armchair, telling his mother something about his work in the parish. His wilting lilac filled the entire space, mixing with her fruity perfume into a suffocating cocktail.
"Ah, Elliot!" William exclaimed when he saw him. "I was just explaining the importance of traditional values for omegas. You work with historical documents, don't you? How wonderful! Though of course, for an omega it would be more natural to focus on the home..."
Michael finally looked up from his tablet.
"Technically," he said monotonously, his wormwood sharpening, "in medieval times male omegas often became scholarly monks. So Elliot is following historical tradition."
William blinked, clearly not expecting opposition.
"Yes, but modernity requires..."
"Modernity requires dinner," Mr. Bennet interrupted. "Let's all go to the dining room."
***
James returned on Tuesday morning, when the house hadn't fully woken yet. Elliot heard the sound of a taxi pulling up and looked out the window. His brother was getting out of the car slowly, as though every movement cost him effort. His usually perfect posture had wilted, shoulders slumped.
Elliot ran downstairs and threw open the door before James could get his keys out.
"James..."
His brother looked up, and Elliot saw such exhaustion and pain in his eyes that his heart clenched. The scent of white acacia and warm milk, usually so cozy and calm, was saturated with bitterness: the milk had gone sour, the acacia had withered.
"Don't," James said quietly. "Just... not right now."
He walked past into the sitting room and froze in the doorway.
At the table sat William Collins, already fully dressed despite the early hour, typing something enthusiastically on his laptop. The smell of wilting lilac and cheap lotion filled the room.
William looked up, and his face instantly brightened.
"James! Dear cousin!" He jumped up so abruptly he nearly knocked over his chair. "What an unexpected joy! I had no idea you'd be back so early. Your mother said you'd be away until Wednesday."
James blinked, clearly not expecting such enthusiasm.
"I... decided to return early. Things wrapped up."
"How wonderful!" William moved closer. His aroma became more insistent, thicker, the wilting lilac trying to envelop James's acacia. "You look exhausted. Allow me to pour you some tea. Or coffee? Keep you company at breakfast?"
Elliot watched as the wilting lilac literally clung to his brother's acacia. James was too polite to cut their cousin off rudely, but discomfort was written in every line of his body.
"Thank you, William, but I..."
"James!" Mrs. Bennet burst into the sitting room in her robe, hair disheveled but eyes blazing. From her came fruity perfume mixed with sour grape. "You're back! How was the weekend? Was Mr. Bingley kind? Did he arrange another meeting?"
James's face trembled.
"Everything was... fine, Mother."
"Fine? Just fine?" Her voice went shrill. "But he invited you again, didn't he? Arranged a meeting?"
"Mother, please..."
"Mrs. Bennet," William interjected, his voice full of unctuous concern, "your son is clearly tired. Allow me to take care of him. James, dear cousin, I'll escort you to your room, bring tea..."
"William." His mother's voice turned icy, the fruity perfume mixing with something dangerous. "May I speak with you? In private?"
Elliot caught her gaze it held steel. She grabbed their cousin by the elbow and practically dragged him into the hallway. Through the thin door came furious hissing, but the words were indistinguishable.
James slowly sank onto the sofa, his acacia completely wilted.
"What's happening?"
Elliot sat beside him.
"William decided you're his target. Mother spent several days preparing me for a proposal, but now the plans have changed."
"Me? Why..."
"Because you're perfect." A bitter smile. "You're exactly the kind of omega everyone wants. Gentle, kind, with the right scent. And I'm too bitter for someone like him. Too wrong."
James silently took his hand.
"Ellie, I don't..."
The door flew open. William returned. The scent of wilting lilac was now mixed with something sharp—disappointment? Anger? But his face wore a strained smile.
"Dear Elliot," he said, false warmth in his voice. "Would you be so kind as to accompany me on a walk this evening? I'd like to discuss some... family matters with you."
Mother forbade him from courting James, Elliot realized. And he's come back to me.
"With pleasure, cousin," he answered through his teeth.
***
That evening the entire family gathered in the sitting room. William Collins installed himself in the center with a hefty tome, Guidance for Young Omegas in the Modern World by Reverend Theophilus Grayson.
"Allow me to read you a few chapters," he announced solemnly. "This work has had the most profound influence on me. My patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, personally recommended it."
Elliot exchanged glances with his father. Mr. Bennet, seated in his chair with his tablet, raised an eyebrow and barely smirked. His Earl Grey scent turned slightly more sour.
William began reading pompously, with affected sighs:
"Chapter Three. On the Proper Behavior of an Omega in the Presence of an Alpha. An omega must always remember his station. A bowed head, downcast eyes..."
Kit reached for his headphones. Mother shot him a look; he quickly put his hand back down. His scent of ozone and chewing gum sharpened with irritation.
"...for nature has granted the alpha strength and wisdom, and the omega softness and submission..."
Lloyd surreptitiously pulled out his phone under the table and started typing something—probably streaming this to TikTok. His strawberries and paint bubbled with amusement.
Michael didn't even pretend to listen, completely absorbed in his tablet, surrounding himself with a cloud of wormwood and parchment.
William stopped to add commentary:
"Such wisdom! You see, dear cousins, in our time many omegas forget tradition. These... entrepreneurial workshops for omegas." He cast a meaningful look at James. "Is this natural? Should an omega not dedicate himself to home, family, supporting his alpha?"
James paled. His acacia scent turned almost bitter.
Elliot couldn't stand it:
"Cousin, do you yourself follow these teachings?"
William blinked.
"What do you mean?"
"The book teaches humility and modesty. But right now you're forcing your opinion on us without asking if we want to hear it. Is that humble?"
The scent of wilting lilac flared with irritation, the dust turning acrid.
"Elliot, dear cousin, I'm only trying to help. Especially you. I'm concerned about your... eccentricity. Your unusual aroma, your withdrawn nature. Your tendency toward... unusual reactions to touch. This book could teach you to control yourself."
Elliot froze. Those last words were too specific.
"Teach me to be different?" he said through his teeth. His scent became almost aggressive: bitter chocolate turned to coal, smoke became toxic, old books to ash. "Thanks, but I'm quite content with who I am."
"Elliot!" Mrs. Bennet exclaimed, her fruity perfume mixing with panic and sour grape. "Apologize to your cousin!"
"No need, aunt." William raised his hand with a martyr's expression. "I understand. Elliot is simply tired. Emotionally unstable, like many omegas with non-traditional auras and... peculiarities. But that's all right, I'm patient. I'll help him change. My patroness, Lady Catherine, has connections with people who specialize in such cases."
Emotionally unstable.
Those words. Again.
Elliot clenched his fists so hard his nails dug into his palms. He turned and left the room without looking back.
He went upstairs and collapsed on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The smell of scorched chocolate and ash filled the room.
A knock at the door.
"Ellie? It's me."
James stood outside.
"Come in."
His brother walked in and sat on the edge of the bed. His acacia scent still carried the bitterness of soured milk.
They were quiet for a long time.
"I know Mother worries about us," James finally began. "But sometimes I feel like she doesn't see me as a son but... an investment. Merchandise that needs to be properly packaged and sold."
"She loves you." Elliot sat up. "She just has a strange way of showing it."
"And Bingley..." James's voice trembled. "Ellie, I really thought there was something between us. He was so attentive, so kind. But then I heard that conversation with Darcy."
He ran his hand over his face.
"Darcy said I wasn't suitable. That my family is too poor and vulgar. That I'm just a fortune hunter. And Charles... Charles didn't argue. He just stayed silent."
Elliot took his hand.
"Maybe he just didn't know what to say. Darcy is his best friend."
"Or he agrees with him." James smiled bitterly. "Maybe Mother is right. Maybe I really should try harder..."
"No." Elliot spoke sharply. "Jamie, listen to me. You're already perfect. If Bingley can't see that, that's his problem, not yours."
James smiled weakly.
"You're biased."
"I'm telling the truth."
They sat in silence. Outside the window dusk was gathering.
"Ellie," James finally said, "promise me something."
"What?"
"That you won't let William break you. He's dangerous. Not physically, but... he knows how to press. Manipulate. And those words about Lady Catherine, about people who 'specialize in such cases'... Ellie, that sounds like a threat."
Elliot felt a chill down his spine.
"I'll be careful."
"Promise."
"I promise."
Later that night Elliot couldn't sleep. He went downstairs for water and heard voices from his father's study. The door was slightly ajar.
He froze.
"...I'm merely saying, uncle," William's voice held syrupy sweetness but with metallic notes, "that after your... passing, the estate will pass to me. Those are the Council rules. Only an alpha can own an ancestral estate. And I'll decide who stays here."
Silence. The scent of his father's Earl Grey turned bitter as wormwood.
Elliot carefully moved closer, pressing himself against the wall.
"Of course, I'm not heartless," William continued. "If one of your sons... say, Elliot... agreed to become my companion, I would be happy to provide shelter for the entire family."
"Companion?" His father's voice was dangerously calm.
"Spouse." He smiled stiffly. "I meant spouse, of course. Elliot is an interesting young man. Unusual. With his... special talents he could be very useful to my patroness."
Elliot's heart beat faster. He knows.
"What do you mean by 'special talents'?" his father asked.
"Oh, nothing specific." The wilting lilac seeped into the hallway, mixed with something predatory. "Just that your wife mentioned Elliot possesses... sensitivity. To the past. To objects. Unusual reactions to touch."
A pause.
"Lady Catherine mentioned that there are... organizations that help omegas with unusual abilities. They study individuals like Elliot. Of course, within a family circle this would be far more comfortable than if... other structures became interested. You see, uncle, certain abilities can be interpreted as... instability. And unstable omegas require special attention from the authorities."
A long pause.
"My son doesn't need anyone's attention, William."
"Oh, but that doesn't always depend on the family's wishes, uncle." Steel entered William's voice. "If the authorities deem an omega potentially dangerous to himself or others... they have the right to intervene. But under the protection of a respectable family, connected to influential circles, such an omega is safe. He's studied delicately, with care."
"Are you threatening my son?"
"I'm offering protection, uncle. Elliot would receive safety, position, patronage. And your family would keep a roof over their heads. I think that's more than fair. The alternative... unfortunately, is far less pleasant."
"Get out of my study."
"Uncle..."
"Now."
Elliot backed away from the door and ran back upstairs, trying not to make noise. His heart was pounding. His hands shaking. His scent had become almost poisonous: scorched chocolate, acrid smoke, ash instead of books.
William didn't just want to marry him. He knew about the gift. And he was talking about organizations that could take omegas with "unusual abilities."
Instability.
Special attention from authorities.
The alternative is less pleasant.
Elliot climbed into bed and pulled the blanket up to his chin, but couldn't get warm.
He didn't know what these organizations were. Didn't know what powers they had. But the threat sounded real enough: either he agreed to marry Collins and came under Lady Catherine's "protection," or they could take him by force.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he had to think of something. Run away. Hide. Anything.
He closed his eyes, but sleep wouldn't come.
William's words circled in his head: The alternative... is less pleasant.
And for some reason the image that came to mind was Darcy, cold and untouchable, but strong. Strong enough to stand against people like William.
Elliot laughed bitterly in the darkness.
Even if Darcy didn't despise him, even if he considered him worthy of protection, he was Lady Catherine's nephew. He was on their side.
Elliot was completely alone
33Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXRkSCsTq7n
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