Prince of Magic

by Anne Stuart

  Sir Richard Durham was an imposing figure of a man, a bluff, hearty country squire with all the subtlety of a bull. His wife, Elinor, was a pale, nervous woman, prone to saying “Yes, dear” as her sole means of communication, but they both seemed relatively free from malice, despite the waves of disapproval that seemed to reach across the room like a noxious cloud and envelop Jane.

  “Good to have you here, Elizabeth,” Sir Richard said gruffly, looking at her with faint disapproval, as if her red hair was somehow a personal affront. “I hope my elder daughter didn’t keep you waiting for too long. God knows her mother and I have tried to drill punctuality and proper behavior into her, with blessed little cooperation, I might add.”

  Elizabeth allowed herself a furtive glance at Jane’s calm expression. To her surprise Jane managed a quick wink before ducking her head in dutiful contrition. “But you haven’t met the rest of my little family,” Sir Richard continued, allowing no one else the chance to speak. “My wife, Elinor, who’ll be a second mother to you, no doubt. Your own mother was her cousin, though they’re nothing alike, thank heavens. The world couldn’t have handled too many Guineveres in this lifetime. Or in any, for that matter,” he said with a bark of laughter.

  Elizabeth’s gaze sharpened. Never in her life had she met anyone who knew her mother and was willing to talk about her in other than hushed, dismissive tones. Sir Richard didn’t seem particularly inclined to let anyone else in the room speak, but later, away from his overbearing presence, Lady Durham might be persuaded to talk about her past.

  “And these are my two little darlings,” he added fondly. “Edward and Edwina, the twins. All that a parent could hope for.”

  Elizabeth received Edwina’s limp hand in salutation. She was indeed the perfect daughter, at least by the Durhams’ standards. With perfect blond ringlets surrounding a face of astonishing beauty only slightly marred by an expression of discontent, she looked to be about seventeen years old. She was flanked by her handsome twin brother, a young man just as perfect, just as spoiled-looking as his sister, and fully four inches shorter than his older sister. His greeting was even more lackluster, and both of them studiously ignored their older sister Jane.

  “It does an old man’s heart good to see his line carried on,” Sir Richard continued. “Makes up for earlier disappointments.”

  “Richard!” Lady Durham’s voice was horrified, and Sir Richard looked properly abashed. For a moment Elizabeth warmed toward the woman for defending her daughter.

  “I meant Jane, of course,” he said defensively. “Jane’s a disappointment to us all, who can deny it? Nothing else, m’love.”

  Beware the Dark Man. The voice echoed in Elizabeth’s head, irrationally, but loud and clear. It wasn’t the voice of the coachman with his Yorkshire dialect. It was Old Peg, telling her future, warning her. Beware the Dark Man.

  Elizabeth managed a polite smile, casting a furtive glance beyond the leaded-glass windows to the woods beyond. If the Dark Man was somewhere out there, she’d keep well away from him. Peg had been her mysterious self, unwilling to tell her whether he was her doom or her salvation. And Elizabeth had sworn to behave herself.

  Lady Durham had sidled over to her, her soft, powdered skin like crumpled tissue. “I’m sure we’re delighted to have you,” she said in her soft voice, clearly sure of no such thing. “We were so concerned when your father wrote and explained your delicate situation, and so pleased we could have you up to Hernewood Abbey for a visit.”

  “My delicate situation?” Elizabeth echoed, perplexed.

  “But I’m sure with our good clean Yorkshire air you’ll regain your strength in no time, and we’ll soon be dancing at your wedding. Your curate sounds absolutely delightful. I could only wish the same for poor Jane. Alas, I’m afraid she’s doomed to be an old maid.”

  For all that Lady Durham’s voice was soft, it was also remarkably distinct, and from a few feet away Poor Jane made a wry face that her mother, fortunately, missed.

  “I’m not engaged to anyone,” Elizabeth said, astonished that her father hadn’t revealed the true reason for her banishment. Doubtless his shame went too deep.

  Lady Durham laughed in a particularly annoying way. “Your father said you were very shy about it. Don’t worry—it will be our little secret. Such a modest girl you are—I wish Jane weren’t such a hoyden.”

  Indeed, one of Jane’s extraneous flounces was ripped, and there was a smear of dirt across the side of her fussy skirts, and Elizabeth knew a moment’s instant envy. A longing for fresh air and moonlight and unfettered clothing.

  “Good country air is the thing for you, young lady,” Sir Richard boomed out from across the room. “Just keep away from the woods.”

  Lady Durham’s smile was chilly. “Why doesn’t Jane take you up to your room and get you settled? We keep country hours here, and our cook is very temperamental. He has a tantrum if the food is kept waiting, and we’re lucky we were able to persuade him to come all the way up here.” There was more pride in her voice concerning her cook than her elder daughter, but Jane seemed oblivious.

  “You’re very kind to have me, Lady Durham,” she murmured politely.

  Lady Durham waved a weak hand. “It’s nothing, child. Just see if you can be a proper model for Jane.”

  “She can teach our Jane some ladylike behavior.” Sir Richard’s hearty voice came from across the room. “Elizabeth seems a quiet, pretty-behaved young lady—you’d do well to emulate her ways, miss.”

  Elizabeth managed to turn her surprised laugh into a cough. Her straitlaced father had been white with horror at the sight of his misbehaving daughter. If Sir Richard discovered how wild she truly was, he’d probably die of apoplexy.

  She met Jane’s laughing eyes. “I’ll do my best, sir,” she murmured.

  And she wondered if Jane had ever danced barefoot in the moonlight.

  Chapter Three

  “I NEVER LIKED red hair,” Cousin Edward announced with a remarkable lack of tact.

  He was lounging inside her open doorway, trying to look sophisticated and failing utterly. Elizabeth resisted the impulse to poke at her tightly coiled hair, simply turning to him with a bland expression on her face. “Since God gave it to me, I’ll have to suppose He does,” she said mildly enough.

  He straightened to his full height, which still made him shorter than his towering older sister. “Your hair doesn’t go with the rest of you. You dress like a governess,” he said spitefully. “Look like one, too.”

  She glanced down at her plain gray gown, the epitome of dull, conservative apparel, and told herself she was pleased. “I expect that’s what I’ll end up doing with my life. I’m very good at rapping the knuckles of rude young gentlemen.” Her voice was dulcet. “How old are you, Edward?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “Really? I would have thought you were younger.” She smiled with utter sweetness.

  His twin appeared behind him, her perfect mouth in a sullen pout. “I do hope you’re not going to take too long in getting settled,” she observed, looking at Elizabeth with a disapproving air. “After all, you can’t be planning a long stay at Hernewood Manor, so there shouldn’t be that much to unpack, and Papa detests it when dinner is late. Besides, we have servants for that sort of thing.”

  “Why shouldn’t I want to stay here?” Elizabeth ignored the fact that this was, in fact, a punishment. “I’ve never been to Yorkshire before.”

  “If you had any sense, you wouldn’t have come in the first place. It’s a cold, wild, uncivilized place. Any sensible person would much prefer London.”

  “Have you been to London?”

  “Many times,” Edwina said. “It’s a glorious place.”

  “It’s a pigsty,” Elizabeth said firmly. “Full of noisy, jostling people and no peace. You can’t breathe the air.”
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br />   “Maybe you spend your time with riffraff, dear cousin,” Edwina said, her smile exposing pointy little teeth, “but we’re accustomed to a better class of people.”

  “Not that there’s any decent society up here, unless you count the Chiltons,” Edward added in a sullen voice. “And I wouldn’t go traipsing off around here in search of fresh air. You’re likely to run into things you’re better off not seeing. Besides, the grounds are haunted.”

  Finally he’d managed to get to Elizabeth, but she wasn’t about to show it. “So I gather,” she said serenely.

  “Ghostly monks have been seen wandering the ruins,” Edward said in a sepulchral voice.

  Edwina looked uncertain. “Don’t be ridiculous, Edward, you know that’s probably just . . . her voice trailed off.

  “Probably just the souls of murdering Catholics,” Edward continued smugly. “Unable to rest because of their hideous crimes.”

  Elizabeth had never held with the notion of murderous Catholics, and this was more than she was willing to swallow. “More likely it’s the Dark Man,” she said calmly. “Gabriel, is it?”

  She’d managed to shock the two of them into silence. “How . . . how did you know about him?” Edward stammered.

  “How do you think she knows? That prattle, Jane, must have told her,” Edwina said crossly, clearly the domineering member of the partnership. “If I were you, my little country cousin, I wouldn’t say the name Gabriel in my parents’ presence. They’re likely to become quite apoplectic.”

  “And exactly who is Gabriel?” Elizabeth asked with admirable calm.

  Edward snickered. “Let’s just call him one of the ghostly monks. Brother Gabriel, another lost soul of Hernewood Abbey.”

  “He didn’t look particularly lost.”

  Edwina let out a little shriek. “I don’t believe you actually saw him! He’s a hermit, and he hates women. Except for the ones he . . . well, you know.”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “She probably saw one of the laborers,” Edward scoffed.

  “Do they all have such astonishing eyes?”

  “For heaven’s sakes, don’t mention his eyes!” Edwina hissed. “Mother would probably fall down in a screaming fit of vapors. That was Gabriel all right. The least said, the better for all of us.”

  “Is he a monk?” For some reason Elizabeth found that notion to be completely unsettling. He didn’t look like a monk. He hadn’t looked at her like a man sworn to celibacy.

  “Former monk,” Edward corrected. “Now he follows a different master. He’s a Druid. He dabbles in witchcraft and magick and the black arts. They say he performs blood sacrifice when the moon is full and reads the future from the way the blood falls to the ground. There have been mysterious disappearances in the area, you know. Animals found slaughtered, that sort of thing. People think Gabriel’s behind it. And him named for an angel!”

  “He’s a demon,” Edwina hissed.

  “You’d best forget you ever saw him, little cousin,” Edward continued, blithely ignoring the fact that he was three years younger and not an inch taller than Elizabeth. “He might go in for a little virgin sacrifice on the side. Slitting the throat of chickens and sheep probably gets boring after a while.”

  Edwina giggled and slapped him on the arm. “I don’t think it’s virgins that interest him, brother.”

  “Go away, you two, and leave Elizabeth alone.” Jane’s sudden appearance was like a dea ex machina, and Elizabeth just barely resisted the impulse to fling her arms around Jane’s neck. A few minutes in the company of the twins was a few minutes too long. “She doesn’t want to be bothered with your silly fairy stories. No one thinks Gabriel’s behind anything. He’s loved in this area, which is more than I can say for the rest of us.”

  “And who was the one who told her about the Dark Man?” Edwina shot back. “And Gabriel the ghostly monk?”

  “I certainly didn’t fill her head with tales of magic and ritual sacrifice,” Jane said sternly. “Go away, the two of you, or we’ll be hours late for dinner, and Father will become dyspeptic.”

  “He’s always dyspeptic anyway,” Edward muttered, giving ground. “Don’t listen to Jane, Cousin Elizabeth. She’ll try to convince you there’s nothing to worry about, but it will be a lie. Keep out of the woods. Keep away from Gabriel. If you have any sense at all, you’ll go back to where you belong as soon as possible.”

  “If she has any sense she won’t listen to a word you say,” Jane said. “Shoo!”

  The twins beat a hasty retreat, unwilling to stand up to their powerful elder sibling. “Beasts,” Jane muttered under her breath. “I hope you didn’t pay them any mind.”

  “They told me I shouldn’t mention Gabriel or the Dark Man at the dinner table.”

  Jane barely blinked. “Well, since I already warned you about the same thing, I would think you’d pay heed. Gabriel’s a sore point around here.”

  Elizabeth peered into a mirror trying to smooth her hair back into obedience. Her skin was even paler than usual, and she must have found just enough sun to bring forth pale golden freckles across her nose. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my concern,” she said apologetically.

  “No, it’s not,” Jane said. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not curious.”

  “I shouldn’t give in to curiosity,” Elizabeth said stalwartly. “But you’re going to tell me who Gabriel is and why your parents quiver at the mention of his name, aren’t you? You wouldn’t let me perish of this wretched weakness.”

  Jane let out a sigh as she headed toward the door. She paused, looking back. “Who do you think he is?” she said wearily. “He’s our brother. Dinner’s ready.” And she disappeared down the hallway, leaving Elizabeth to race after her, a moment after her initial shock passed.

  ELIZABETH WASN’T sure what dragged her from a sound sleep that night. She’d been dreaming of wolves roaming the dark woods with strange, translucent eyes, and she was running, barefoot through the thick grass, with the heat of the wolf’s breath on her back and his paw between her shoulders blades, flinging her down onto the hard ground . . .

  She sat up in bed, stifling a small scream, and for a moment she couldn’t remember where she was. She was in the wolf’s cave, and he was staring at her out of the darkness, his strange eyes glowing . . .

  She blinked, and the fitful moonlight illuminated the recesses of the unfamiliar room, and she remembered where she was. In the small bedroom on the second floor of Hernewood Manor, dreaming of ghostly wolves.

  The room was cold—the fire had died out long ago, and it hadn’t been a generous one in the first place. It was all done very subtly—a sly glance here, a faint expression there, but Elizabeth had no illusions that she was an honored guest, but rather a poor relation, taken in with a combination of resignation and duty. The Durhams seemed to have almost as little use for her as they had for their eldest daughter.

  Not to mention their eldest son. Elizabeth was still reeling from the revelation that the mysterious man from the woods was in actuality Gabriel Durham, Jane’s brother. He looked as different from his parents and the twins as night from day, and his resemblance to Jane was minimal except for their height.

  But what was the heir of Hernewood Manor doing dressed in rough clothes, living in the woods?

  She climbed out of bed, dragging a shawl with her and wrapping it around her shoulders as she peered out the window. Her room overlooked the forest, not the wide expanse of formal gardens, and at first she could see nothing but the thick trees. She leaned her forehead against the chilly glass, and as she squinted she could make out the pale, moonlit stone remnants of the ruined abbey and a faint shadow of movement that might be a deer, might be a rabbit, might be a ghostly monk.

  “There are no such things as ghosts,” she said out loud in her best, most practical
voice. Old Peg would be sorely disappointed in her—she’d always maintained that there were more things in heaven and earth than many even dared to dream of, and Elizabeth had believed, until she’d seen the shock and hurt in her father’s eyes and determined to mend her ways.

  “You won’t be able to be who they want you to be,” Old Peg had warned her that last day Elizabeth had seen her. “You can put shoes on your feet and drab clothes on your body, and you can cast your eyes down and pin your hair close to your head and pretend you haven’t seen with your soul things few people even dream of. But the truth will own you, Elizabeth Penshurst. No matter how you try to hide from it, the truth will own you.”

  But it wouldn’t. She could be the proper child her father deserved. She would do her duty—she was a loving daughter with a loving heart, and while she wouldn’t marry a slug like Elliott Maynard, she was perfectly willing to obey her father’s wishes and find suitable employment. She would teach ungrateful children; she would keep a disagreeable old lady company; she would willingly do any number of things to lessen the burden on her father’s slender purse. And she would turn a deaf ear to the call of the woods and the lure of magic.

  But here she was, leaning against a cold window, staring out into the forest, her breath leaving a mist on the glass, her heart longing for the forest.

  On impulse she opened the window, hoping the chill air would put a stop to her yearnings. It was cold—bright and crisp and clear—and she shivered within the cocoon of the shawl and wondered if her feet would freeze in the cold wet grass.

  She wasn’t going. She was going to close the window and get back in bed and back to sleep, with no dreams to disturb her. She was strong-minded—indeed, her father often said she was too strong-minded. He would have been shocked if he’d ever learned of the hours she spent in the woods with Old Peg, listening to stories of ancient magic.