Miss Cheswick's Charm (Seven Wishes Book 2)

by Bree Verity

  “Mess? That sounds ominous.”

  Despite her calm tone, Caroline’s head was spinning. Had Theo lost everything? Was that why he was so shaken? Surely, he wasn’t positioned in such a way that his entire fortune could be wiped out with one bad investment. She did not think Theo that impractical. “What is it that you’ve done?”

  “Caroline.” Theo reached across the desk and she, too, reached a hand to hold his, awaiting the rest of his words. “I came home because I did not want to think about it anymore today. I simply want to take the edge off with a little brandy, and then spend some time in the company of my wife.”

  “Tell me, Theo,” she urged. “You know I will not be able to rest until I know what is happening.”

  “Then you should prepare yourself for a sleepless night.” Theo withdrew his hand, rubbed his eyes again. “Please don’t badger me, Caroline. I had enough of that from Freddie and Guthrie. I do not need it from you as well.”

  Caroline’s brows snapped up. “Very well,” she said coolly.

  Then she thought of the sapphire pendant, still hanging by its silver chain around her neck.

  Surely it would not hurt to use it one more time. After all, something horrendous must had occurred for Theo to be so evasive with her.

  And she had a responsibility, nay, a right, to know the state of her fortune.

  She felt as if the pendant shone brighter beneath her gown, as if it had grown warm against her skin, as if the weight of it pulled at her neck. She grabbed at the chain and pulled the charm from her bosom.

  If Theo would not tell her under his own volition, really, she had no choice but to force the truth from him. She took the brilliant sapphire in her hand.

  “Please, Theo. Confide in me. Tell me what has happened.”

  Theo sighed heavily. “The investment that I made in Cabot and Co? It seems Cabot has taken all of the money and disappeared.”

  Caroline’s mouth dropped open. “And how much did you invest?”

  “Around a third of your capital.”

  “A third? I told you to invest a sizeable amount, not a whole third.”

  Theo’s gaze was sharp upon her and Caroline flushed. “I mean, I suggested you invest…”

  “I don’t recall discussing the matter with you at all,” he replied sharply, confusion written on his face.

  “No?”

  “No. I saw the article in the Commercial Times and ran straight to the office to instruct Guthrie.” He smiled grimly. “I do remember both Guthrie and Freddie cautioning prudence.” He laughed harshly. “Whoever would have thought I should be accepting advice about prudence from Freddie of all people!”

  “So, you don’t remember discussing the opportunity with me?”

  “No. Not at all.” He took her hand and kissed it. “I suppose you cautioned prudence as well.”

  Caroline opened her mouth, knowing guilt marred her features. She would tell him everything. He needed to know the whole thing was Caroline’s fault, not his.

  But before she could speak, Theo looked at her, chagrined. “I don’t know why I have told you this now, when I specifically planned not to.” He rubbed his face again. “I think I must be going mad.”

  “No.” Caroline rushed around to Theo’s side of the desk. “No, my dear, you are not. It is merely overwork and tiredness.” She took his shoulders in her hands and started to massage the muscles beneath.

  “Mmm, that feels good,” Theo said. “I must admit, despite planning not to tell you, I do feel a little better that you know. Although, I feel as if one of those headaches is coming upon me.”

  “Perhaps they are precipitated by anxiety,” Caroline suggested, her own disquiet increasing. Now not only was she guilty of tricking her husband into making a bad investment, she had also made him unwell.

  But a third of her capital! And Mr. Cabot had taken it all.

  “There is no insurance over the investment?” Caroline asked, already knowing the answer. “No way to find Mr. Cabot and bring the money back?”

  Theo made a sound between a laugh and a groan. “Cabot didn’t arrange any insurance,” he replied, “and even if we could find Cabot - and we cannot - I suspect the money will have disappeared. I’m afraid it is totally lost to us.” Then he twisted his head to look up at Caroline. “No. To you. I am so sorry, Caroline. I should have listened to you and taken your advice. And that of Freddie and Guthrie. But I promise you,” and he laid a hand over Caroline’s on his shoulder, “I will work my hardest to get your capital back.”

  Caroline could see the strain around his eyes, the wrinkle in his forehead. “It is nothing you can do this very minute. Is the headache becoming worse?” she asked gently.

  Theo nodded his assent. “I think perhaps I could use some of Harris’ famous powders and a lie down,” he said.

  “I think that would be a good idea,” Caroline agreed.

  * * *

  It broke Theo’s heart to accept his wife’s solicitous care when he had so blithely squandered her money. She seemed so calm about the whole ordeal, more concerned about him than about his imprudent action.

  She helped him up the stairs and into his room, removing his shoes and coat, and unbuttoning his waistcoat so he could lie down comfortably. She instructed Harris to prepare the headache powders and a bowl of cool water and tweaked the curtains so that the dull light wouldn’t strike his face. And she helped him to settle on the long chaise beside the fire, seating herself alongside him on the floor and tenderly placing a handkerchief dipped in the cold water against his now pounding head.

  He did not deserve someone like her. She had forgiven him his error as easily as if it had never happened. Perhaps she did not understand the enormity of his mistake. The loss of one third of her capital would not leave her in penury upon his death, but it certainly would cut deeply into her income. He vowed to replace it, if not by his own industry, then with his own capital.

  He took her hand and kissed it. “Thank you for taking this so well,” he said, and the words felt inadequate to express what he was feeling in his heart. He had always known he had made a good match in Caroline, he had always been fond of her, but this feeling was over and above fondness. He felt a burning desire to strive for her happiness and her approval.

  He loved her. He actually loved her.

  Despite his aching head, he pulled himself up from the chaise to place a kiss on her cheek.

  “Shh,” she said with a smile, pushing his shoulders back to the comfort of the chaise. “There are more important matters right at this moment. Relax, rest.”

  “But I have to tell you something.”

  “It will wait.”

  She dipped the handkerchief again in the cold water and placed it against his burning forehead. He closed his eyes. While the cool of the fabric was heavenly, it lasted but a moment before it warmed again. He felt as if his brain was expanding in his head, trying to force its way out of his skull. What had he been thinking about? He couldn’t remember through the agonizing buzzing. There was nothing except pain. He heard himself whimper, felt Caroline’s cool hand against his forehead.

  And then, it was over.

  He opened his eyes to see Caroline’s concerned face hovering over him and gave her a weak smile. “It has passed,” he said softly.

  From nearby, he heard Harris say, “Those are the strangest megrims I have ever encountered. To just disappear in such a peculiar way.”

  Theo felt lethargic, but heard himself say, “Perhaps it is something other than headaches. Perhaps there is actually something wrong.”

  “I suspect they are merely too much worry,” replied Caroline firmly.

  Theo smiled lazily up at her. “You may be right,” he said. His eyelids drooped, and he slurred, “I think I might go to sleep now.”

  He didn’t hear Caroline’s response.

  Chapter Eleven.

  “Sláinte,” said Lachlan, pinging his glass against that of Fenella.

  “And to you,�
� replied Fenella, drinking her whiskey in one gulp. Lachlan shook his head and took a sip of his.

  “Lightweight,” Fenella scoffed.

  She was in a particularly good mood, Lachlan noted. As well she might. Both Caroline and Theodore had realized they loved one another. Another step forward in their happily ever after. He was reluctant to disrupt her happy mood. But as her mentor, he had no choice.

  “Why does she still have the charm?”

  Fenella glanced over at him, guilt in her eyes. “She stopped using it. I thought she had forgotten about it.”

  Lachlan schooled his features into a mask of disbelief. “She’s human. It’s magic. How could she forget about it?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Fenella. “She was ‘otherwise engaged’.” She made quote marks in the air.

  “Otherwise engaged?”

  “You know. With her household. And her husband.” Lachlan was surprised to see Fenella flush, just a little.

  “And that was reason to leave the charm with her because…?”

  “I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  He shook his head. “You can’t do that,” he said, allowing a censorious tone to enter his voice. “Humans cannot be trusted with magic Fenella. You know that.”

  “I know.”

  “So, you’re getting that thing off her right away, yes?”

  “Fine.”

  “Good.”

  Lachlan hated to think what a human might do with a magic charm. He didn’t even want to imagine the damage she could cause with it.

  “So.” Fenella interrupted his thoughts. “What actually happens when a human gets their happily ever after? Are they really happy forevermore?”

  Lachlan shrugged one shoulder. “As happy as any human can be, I suppose. They do seem to like to add unnecessary drama to their lives.”

  “You know why they do that, right?” Fenella asked, helping herself to another tot from the whiskey bottle.

  “Why?”

  “Because they don’t have magic.”

  She said it as if it was an obvious conclusion, but Lachlan didn’t understand.

  “Why would that have any effect on the matter?” he asked, taking another sip of his glass as Fenella downed another measure in full. He didn’t even try to keep up with her. Dark fae were well known to have a strong constitution when it came to drinking. She could probably drink him under the table without even feeling the effects of the alcohol.

  “Can you imagine how dull life would be without magic? How unpleasant?”

  Lachlan thought about the things magic accomplished in his life - it kept his apartment neat, his cupboards stocked, his clothes serviceable; he could stop it raining overhead with a click of his fingers; it made heavy things light and dirty things clean.

  With surprise he said to Fenella, “I had never actually considered that before. Life must be a drudgery for humans.”

  Fenella nodded, but added a little sheepishly, “Having said that, it seems that if you give humans magic to use, all they seem to do is misuse it.”

  “But that could be because they never have used it, and so don’t really understand the intricacies.”

  “Perhaps,” Fenella mused, “or perhaps they are so used to everything being difficult, they can’t understand something that will make life easier.”

  Lachlan shrugged as he finished his drink. “They certainly are a strange race,” he said, “and so fascinating to study.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Don’t you?”

  “I got bored after the fifth Muscovite-Lithuanian war. That’s all they ever seem to do. Fight.”

  “They are certainly far less civilized than us.”

  Fenella thought for a moment. “Do you think that’s why we were allowed to use their souls instead of our own for the tithe to Hell? Because they are lesser creatures?”

  “I would have thought we could only use them as a replacement for our own souls if they were equivalent creatures to us. Don’t equate boorishness with lack of capacity, Fenella. Look at Grimwold’s essay.”

  Fenella snorted. “Grimwold’s essay,” she scoffed. “What a load of twaddle.”

  One of Lachlan’s eyebrow’s lifted. “Grimwold’s essay is one of the tenets of our teachings, Fenella,” he said, sounding a little prudish, even to himself.

  “Hmph,” was her reply.

  “You don’t get to ‘hmph’ about Grimwold’s essay.”

  “I’ll ‘hmph’ about whatever I want.”

  “Then you had better have a good argument as to why you ‘hmph’ it.”

  Fenella sat forward, her obsidian eyes shining. “What if Grimwold’s premise is wrong? What if being a fairy godmother is a curse, not a blessing? What if the humans would be better off handing over their seven and seventy souls for the tithe instead of having their happily ever afters crafted around them?”

  “How could they be better off?” Lachlan scoffed.

  “Because of what we already talked about,” Fenella said, exasperated. “Because their lives are so awful. Because even when they get a happily ever after, there’s no guarantee that they will be happy.”

  Lachlan opened his mouth, and then closed it again. It was a fair argument. Fenella sat back in her chair and threw her arms wide.

  “Besides, we don’t even know that we need to have fairy godmothers. The whole tithe thing could be a lie, or a half-truth, mangled over time.”

  Now Lachlan had to stop her.

  “The archaeological evidence points to the truth of it, Fenella. And we do not want to find out what would happen if we didn’t fill the quota of happily ever afters.” She went to interject, but he stopped her with one outstretched hand. “It might be possible you are right. But if you were not, would you really want to go back to the days when we had to sacrifice either ourselves or the humans to Hell?”

  Fenella shrugged. “It wouldn’t be a problem for me.”

  Lachlan shivered as cold invaded the room. Fenella’s voice had deepened and as he stared at her, she changed somehow. It wasn’t that she looked different. But something deep inside her changed the very essence of her being. She looked otherworldly, the red glints deep in her eyes making her appear almost demonic. Lachlan was suddenly terrified of her, at the same time, he was fascinated by the dark fae.

  He stared into the black and red eyes, dancing, hypnotic and enticing. He felt his jaw go slack; his limbs loosen in their sockets. He leaned toward her, entranced. For a moment, he would have done anything Fenella asked of him. Anything.

  And then she sat back, and he snapped out of it. She was normal again.

  “What did you just do to me?” he asked shakily, pouring himself a rather larger whiskey.

  “I took over your soul.”

  “What?” Lachlan was horrified. Blue-white light exploded around him, his own response to high emotion.

  “Just for a second. I can do it to humans too.”

  “What?” He was even more horrified.

  “Sending people to Hell would be easy.”

  Lachlan was lost for words. The lack of care in Fenella’s tone was disturbing. And the magic she had used - what was that?

  His pupils darkened when he realised, and he stood up, radiating brightness.

  “Never do that again, Fenella! Not to anyone!”

  She looked confused, insolent. “Why?”

  “Promise me.”

  “What?”

  “Promise me you’ll never do that again.”

  “O…kay.” Fenella looked skeptical. “You’re beginning to worry me, Lachlan.”

  “Those kinds of blackdark arts aren’t even supposed to exist anymore.” Lachlan poured his whiskey down his throat, feverishly pacing the room. “They were supposed to have gone extinct thousands of years ago. It was bred out of us, out of the dark fae. You should not be able to command a soul - human or fae.”

  Fenella’s mouth fell open. “That’s blackdark?”

  “Yes, and it’s danger
ous. For you.”

  “Why for me?”

  “Because the old law still stands that anyone caught using the blackdark arts must be isolated from society. For their entire life. So, they can’t procreate.”

  Fenella scoffed. “They wouldn’t do that,” she said confidently. “These are not the dark ages.”

  “No,” agreed Lachlan, “but blackdark isn’t supposed to exist in modern society either. Yet there you are.”

  She smiled nervously. “You’re not going to turn me in are you Lachlan?” she asked lightly, but he could see the wariness and the beginnings of panic in her eyes.

  “No.” His glow diminished as he took a few deep breaths. He stepped right up to Fenella and pulled her to her feet, placing his hands on either side of her face and stared down into her eyes seriously. “But promise me you won’t ever use that magic again.”

  “I promise.”

  Something about the fear in her eyes, or the whiskey he had drunk, or her close proximity made Lachlan bold. He let his head drop down, let his lips rest on Fenella’s for one crazy, heady moment. And when he pulled back and saw that she had welcomed his kiss, he kissed her again, this time longer and with more passion behind it. He found himself surrounded in her - the spicy taste and scent of her overwhelming his senses, the heat from her entire body warming him. Or was it the whiskey? Or was Fenella herself doing something to him? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he had the stunning dark fae in his arms. He glowed, but this time it was a yellowish-white light, the color of passion.

  Then she pulled away, her face stormy.

  “You can’t do that,” she accused, hands clenched into fists at her sides.

  “Do what?” His senses were addled, both by the alcohol and by the wicked sensation of her body against his. And the glow from him, which he desperately tried to reduce, gave her all the evidence she needed that he had enjoyed experiencing her.

  “Take advantage when I am vulnerable.” Smoke was beginning to gather around her feet and lower legs - black smoke with tiny red forks of lightning raking through it. “Kiss me when I least expect it.” The sparks of red in her eyes were back. “Make me feel things that I simply should not be feeling for my mentor.”