“Certainly, you’re not being serious.” She took the paper from him and read it quickly. “We’re to deliver a present to Viscount Ramsdale and his wife.” She looked at Ronald. “What sort of present?”
Ronald reached into his pocket and pulled out a small silver casket. “It’s sealed by magic,” he informed her as he passed it over to her. That meant he’d tried to open it and been unable.
“We’re to deliver it in a sennight?” Sophia looked up from the missive to find Marcus’s watchful gaze on hers. “Why must we wait a sennight? Can’t we just deliver it now and be done with it?”
“Our instructions are to deliver it at the ball. A sennight from today.”
“Oh, I do love a good ball,” her grandmother chimed in, not even looking up from her knitting. “We shall all attend.”
“But we’ll miss the moonful. We won’t be able to return home for more than a fortnight after that.”
“Nevertheless, those are our instructions.” Marcus tossed the missive into the fire, where it shattered like the sparks of flint on steel.
“Well, that’s an interesting turn of events,” Sophia breathed. “I thought they’d never send me on another mission. Perhaps they’ll let me keep my wings, after all?” She arched a brow at Marcus.
“I highly doubt it.”
Sophia raised a finger to her mouth and absently worried a nail, until Margaret shot her a scolding glance for her actions. She huffed and settled onto the bed. Another sennight to prepare for the ball. Then more than another fortnight before she’d leave Ashley’s land. A lifetime without her wings. And without Ashley and Anne.
“I have more time to complete my mission with Lady Anne,” Sophia mused aloud.
But Marcus disagreed. “That mission has been passed on to Claire.”
Sophia jumped to her feet. “You can’t do that.”
He dusted his hands together as he said, “We’re finished with this conversation, Soph. I know you don’t like it. But that mission was always meant for Claire. She’s installed as the girl’s governess, which gives her more access than you currently have.”
“But,” Sophia floundered.
“And no one saw her use her fae magic,” Marcus interjected, his voice harsh enough to break stone. “She’s in a better position than you are.”
Yes, yes, Claire was in a better position than Sophia. She was with the Duke of Robinsworth. And Sophia never would be again.
Nineteen
Ashley closed his ledger and laid his hand flat upon it. He couldn’t come up with one more task that needed doing. Nothing else was pending his approval. No one needed to be paid. No one needed his counsel. He’d avoided bed until the wee hours of the morning, knowing that he’d feel lonelier than ever when he went into his empty bedchamber.
It had been six days since she’d left. Sophia had only visited him there twice, but he could still smell her in the room. Still feel her pressed against his side as he played. Still hear the cadence of her wicked little breaths as the music excited her.
He scrubbed a hand down his face in frustration. He’d learned to avoid his nose, which was healing much nicer than he’d anticipated. No bruising and very little inflammation. But his nose just made him think about Sophia again. Everything made him think about her.
He groaned to himself and settled deeper into his chair.
But then heavy, quick footsteps sounded in the corridor. Finn burst into his study as though the hounds of hell were upon his heels. His hair stuck out in every direction, and his clothes were covered with trail dust. He was missing his cravat.
Ashley leapt to his feet. “Who died?”
Finn crossed to the sideboard and poured himself a healthy shot of whiskey, tossed it back, grimaced for a moment, then shook his head and grinned. “I found her.”
Ashley crossed to stand in front of his desk, hitching his hip upon the edge as he crossed his arms over his chest.
“Oh, stop trying to look so imposing,” Finn groused as he poured another shot of whiskey. “It took nearly a sennight, but I found the Thornes. All of them. They’re at the Slipper and Stocking.”
They were less than a half day’s ride away? “Are you quite certain it was them?”
“More than quite,” Finn said. Ashley crossed the room and put the whiskey away. Finn scowled at him. “I bring you good tidings and you hide the whiskey? How dare you?”
“If you drink much more, you won’t be able to tell me what you’ve learned.” Ashley settled into a chair and reached out one foot to kick a chair closer to Finn. “Sit. Pray tell me everything.”
Ashley waited with bated breath for news of Sophia and her whereabouts.
“I followed them all the way to town,” Finn said. “And then out of town. And then back to town. I got a little turned around. But then a man approached me on the street and walked by me singing this little song about a lass with eyes the color of honey and molasses, and he was speaking of a girl named Sophia. I wish I could remember the words.” He began to sing softly to himself.
Finn had obviously had more to drink than Ashley had originally thought when he arrived. “Go to bed, Finn. Sleep it off.” He got up to go to bed himself, but Finn jumped up to follow him.
“I asked him where he’d heard that song. He said a little man with a round head who was about two feet tall was singing it in the bushes by him, and he’d been so enamored of it that he’d learned every word.” Finn groaned at what must have been the ungodly amusement that was sure to be on Ashley’s face. “I know, it sounds quite farcical, but I swear it’s true.” He laid a hand upon his heart. “The little man was singing of your Sophia Thorne.”
Ashley snorted. “She’s not my Sophia.”
“But she will be, if you have any say in the matter.”
Yes, she would.
Finn swished his hands in the air, as though to wipe away any obstruction. “So, this man was singing about Sophia and talking about the little man. And I thought how odd the whole situation was.” He reached out to grab Ashley. “You’ll never believe this, Robin.” He looked like he was about to burst.
“I’m certain I won’t.”
“I asked him where he saw the little man. I felt certain he’d say he met him during his stay at Bedlam, but he didn’t. He pointed down the road. So, I walked down the road, and guess what I found?”
It was only then that Ashley realized Finn had dropped a burlap sack as he’d walked into the room. And the sack was moving. “Tell me that’s not…”
“I caught him, Robin. I caught the little man. He told me all about the Thornes.”
“Was this before or after you shoved him in the sack?”
Finn appeared to think it over. “Before.”
“You have a little man in the little sack.” Ashley was quite certain his mouth was hanging open. But he couldn’t help it. It was too ridiculous for words. Finn looked like the cat that ate the canary. “What’s really in the bag, Finn?”
Finn rolled his eyes and then crossed to the bag and upended it. And from the bag rolled a little man, who, when unfurled, stood about two feet tall. Finn had the man’s hands tied in front of him and his feet bound, and Finn’s cravat poked out of the man’s mouth. Ashley heard what he thought sounded like an oath from the little lad. He wore a yellow waistcoat and a black jacket, with a red cravat of his own.
The little fellow murmured something at him from behind the wad of fabric shoved into his mouth. “What did you say?” Ashley prompted. The little man motioned to his mouth with his hands. “Oh, quite right.”
“Don’t do that, Robin!” Finn shouted, just as Ashley tugged the plug from the little man’s mouth. But it was too late. The red-faced little creature leaned forward and sank its teeth into Ashley’s finger. “It bites,” Finn said belatedly.
“Bloody hell,” Ashley murm
ured to himself as he took a step back from the creature. “You could have told me it bites before you let me free its mouth.”
Finn shrugged. “I tried.”
“Try harder next time.”
“Untie me,” the little man said.
“It speaks,” Finn said, sinking down onto his knees to regard the little man more closely.
“Of course, I speak, you dolt,” the little fellow said. “You and I had a whole conversation before you stuffed me in the sack.”
A grin tugged at the corners of Ashley’s lips.
“You don’t have to call me names,” Finn returned.
The man held up his hands. “You don’t have to tie me up.”
Ashley snorted. He couldn’t help it. It was too hard not to laugh.
The little man held out his hands to Ashley. “Your Grace, would you untie me, please?”
“You know who I am?”
The little man looked at Ashley like he was the worst sort of idiot. “Doesn’t everyone?”
Ashley supposed that was true. “I’d like to talk to you,” Ashley said, as he approached slowly. He reached out a tentative hand. “You’re not going to bite me again, are you?”
“Not unless you make me,” the man said with a sudden jovial grin. “And to think, I thought you were the dangerous one.”
“A misnomer, I assure you,” Ashley replied.
Once Ashley cut through his bonds, the little man clambered into a chair and turned to face Finn. “Tell me your wish, sir, so I can go back to my duties.”
Ashley could think of only one wish he would wish. “A wish?” he asked, as he settled in a chair across from the little man.
“You freed a garden gnome. You get a wish.” The little man regarded him with a slow smile.
“Wait. I should be the one to get the wish. I caught you.”
“Exactly.” The gnome shook his head as though he was talking to an addled man. “You caught the gnome.” He pointed to Ashley. “He freed the gnome.” He pointed to his left ear. “Use these for something other than holding up your spectacles, won’t you?”
“I don’t wear spectacles,” Finn muttered.
“Then you don’t use them for a single thing, do you?” the gnome taunted.
Ashley chuckled into his fist. Finn cursed behind him and pulled up a chair. “The little lad knows Miss Thorne,” Finn reminded Ashley.
“Little lad?” the man said with a snort. “I’ll have you know that I’m two hundred and ten years old.” He snorted again. “Little lad,” he murmured, disgust in his voice.
“What are you?” Ashley asked.
“Is that your wish? To know what I am?”
“Absolutely not,” Finn interjected.
The gnome sighed heavily. “Can you make it go away?” He pointed to Finn. “It makes me nervous.”
Finn bristled at the “it” reference. “Why you little…” But Ashley held up a hand.
The little man grinned broadly and appraised his fingernails closely for a moment. Then said, “You humans certainly are a foolish lot. I am a garden gnome.”
“I never thought garden gnomes were real. Next you’ll tell that the gargoyles guarding my garden gates are real.”
The gnome arched a brow at him.
“Good God,” Ashley swore. “They are?”
The gnome shrugged.
“I have to get back to my post. Sophia can get herself into some serious messes when I’m not around to watch her. I’m her shadow, you know?” the gnome said, his chest puffing out with pride.
“I’m certain you make a wonderful shadow.”
“Until someone catches him,” Finn tossed out.
The gnome stood up in the chair and looked for a moment like he would launch himself at Finn. Ashley was almost ready to let him. But Finn held up two hands to fend him off. The little man huffed and settled back into the chair. “Your wish, Your Grace,” the gnome prompted.
“How long have you known Miss Thorne?” Ashley asked casually.
“Since the day she was born. And her mother before her,” the man said with pride. He narrowed his eyes at Ashley. “You get one wish, Your Grace.”
“I bet Miss Thorne will be looking for you.”
“She has an upcoming mission. And I must be nearby in case she needs me.”
“Exactly where are you all from?” Ashley asked, trying not to seem too concerned.
“I’m certain you’ve never heard of it.”
Bloody hell. Why was it that they all replied with the same answer?
“Your wish, Your Grace?” he asked, his foot wiggling impatiently.
“I believe you should stay the night,” Ashley suddenly said. “A man of your importance gets the best bedchamber and a fine meal.” Ashley rang for a servant. The little man preened under Ashley’s praise and was practically licking his lips at the thought of a good meal.
“The best bedchamber?” he asked, his chest puffing up with pride.
“I hope you’ll do me the honor of being my guest.” Ashley had to find out where Sophia was. He wanted to know everything there was to know about her. He could probably get more out of the man with simple kindness and flattery, but he’d have that wish now. Then ask for more of the man on the morrow. “My wish is to have Miss Thorne.” Ashley knew she’d been at the Slipper and Stocking, but was that where she still resided?
The gnome appeared to mull it over for a moment, scratching his chin. “Which one?”
There was more than one? “Miss Sophia Thorne.”
“You can find Miss Sophia Thorne at the Ramsdales’ ball tomorrow night.”
“Ramsdale, you say?”
Ashley bellowed loudly and Wilkins poked his head into the room. Even in the middle of the night, the butler was still at his post. “Wilkins, do you think you can secure an invitation to the Ramsdales’ ball tomorrow night?”
Wilkins looked slightly taken aback. But the servants had a way of getting things done that Ashley had never understood. “For whom, Your Grace?”
Ashley fought not to roll his eyes. “For me.”
Wilkins looked started for a moment but recovered quickly. “I believe I can.” He nodded once at Ashley. Then he noticed the gnome, who sat with his chin resting on his upturned hand, his feet swinging a foot off the floor. The butler barely blinked. There was barely a twitch. He looked less startled to see a little man, fancily dressed, than he had when Ashley asked for an invitation to the ball.
“Good. Secure an invitation for me. And find a bedchamber—”
A cough from the gnome cut Ashley off.
“Take Mr…?” He waited for the gnome to fill in the blank.
“Just Ronald,” the gnome said with pride. As though it were his heritage rather than a single, ordinary name.
“Please take Ronald to our best bedchamber. And be sure he’s settled for the night.” Ashley reached out to shake hands with the little man. His grip was surprisingly firm. “I hope you rest well, sir,” Ashley said.
The man preceded Wilkins from the room, so Ashley called to his retreating back. “Wilkins?”
“Yes, Your Grace?” he said as he came back around the corner.
“Secure his door and his windows,” Ashley said quietly.
The butler smiled and nodded. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Twenty
Sophia stepped out into the darkness of the night and shook the lethargy from her brain. She’d been engaged by the music since she’d arrived. Pulled toward it as though some invisible string connected her and it. She’d been listening intently ever since the moment she’d heard the lilting sound of the orchestra. Since the very moment she’d walked through the blasted doors.
It was a good thing her dance partners hadn’t expected he
r to converse, or she’d have been labeled a bumbling idiot the moment she opened her mouth. Certainly, they’d tried to talk with her, but she’d been so enamored by the music that she couldn’t put two rational thoughts together. Still couldn’t. It was much like being foxed. Drunk on the rhythm of the music. Yet it didn’t reach her the same way Ashley’s music did. It didn’t jar her very soul. It didn’t call to her the way his music did.
She leaned heavily against the cold exterior wall of the Ramsdales’ monstrous home and let the chill seep through her gown to scorch her skin. It felt quite nice, having something to think about, aside from the music. But then the door beside her opened and a man stepped into the shadows. “Miss Thorne?” the interloper called.
Sophia shuffled farther into the darkness, just as the music seeped around the door to greet her as well. She huddled farther in the shadows.
“I could have sworn I saw her leave through that door,” a second voice said.
“Quite an odd piece of baggage, is she not?” the first man asked. She could vaguely place his voice but couldn’t remember his name. She’d danced a minuet with him. How dare he compare her to baggage!
“Pretty as a picture, though.” He guffawed loudly. And unattractively. His laugh was almost as big as his hooked nose. And it was huge. “It’s too bad she has bats in the belfry.”
“What do you mean?”
Indeed? What did he mean?
“She couldn’t put two words together if her life depended on it. It was like talking to the marble statue outside my father’s hunting lodge.”
“Since when have you cared one bit about talking to a lady?”
Unable to take any more, Sophia stepped from the shadows into the light that filtered out the windowpanes. “Since when have either of you become such grand individuals that you can speak so callously of someone you’ve only just met?” She dusted at her skirt.
Even in the darkness, Sophia could see them both flush. “Miss Thorne.” The hooked-nosed one had the nerve to speak.
Indeed. She was of a good mind to throw some dust above their heads and bring their own insecurities to light. But then Marcus popped his head around the corner and into the darkness as well. He looked at the two men, who fidgeted from foot to foot.
A Lady and Her Magic Page 16
