I don’t like the idea of anyone in London talking about me, especially after what poor Margaret witnessed just a few days ago. “My father’s estate is located in Gloucestershire,” I say in as neutral a tone as I can manage.
“Indeed? Well, then, you must be the country beauty I heard talk of.” She casts her eyes over my dress as though appraising whether this is true.
“How very kind,” I say.
Eliza turns to Amelia. “But what else did we hear? Something about a girl who has become so headstrong, her father sent her to London because not even the country gentlemen would have her.” She laughs humorlessly, her eyes trained on mine. “But that must have been a different girl from Gloucestershire as the one who stands before us is so well-turned out, there can be no doubt of her gentle upbringing.”
If I were one of my father’s hounds, my hackles would be standing on end. I cannot imagine what I did to deserve such animosity from this perfect stranger. I glance at the earl, whose mouth is turned down in an irritated frown, though whether it is directed at Eliza or the gossip she deposited at our feet, I’m not sure.
I smile as though she’s said something amusing. “Perhaps. Though I’m not sure headstrong would be such a terrible insult. I find it is much preferred to that of a vapid gossipmonger.”
The earl lets out a noise somewhere between a snort and a cough. His frown has been replaced with bright amusement in his eyes, but I cannot even enjoy it. My body thrums with nervous energy. I’ve wielded my tongue like a sword, and I know I have yet to pay the consequences.
Eliza makes a sniffing sound and turns to Amelia. “We should continue our walk. I believe we have trespassed on his lordship and Katherine’s private conversation.”
“We weren’t—” I start.
“It was nice to make your acquaintance, Katherine,” Eliza says. “I look forward to seeing you again soon.”
My eyes narrow at her back as she walks away. If anyone I’ve met so far is a member of the Order, it’s Eliza. Why else would she hate me on sight? Though if that’s the caliber of its members, I fear my mother worried herself for nothing.
“My dear Miss Sinclair,” the earl says, his tone steeped with regret, “as amusing as that was, I do believe you’ve made yourself your first enemy.”
SIX
THE rest of the week is unbearably dull, and yet busy at the same time. After that day in the park, I haven’t seen Lord Thornewood, even at the evening suppers. The fact that he has disappeared from society is worrisome. It seems just the thing someone would do if he were from the Order my mother warned me of. A sickening feeling of dread fills me. Not only is the success of my debut dependent upon his good name, but I also cannot deny the attraction I have for him. Surely fate would not be so cruel as to curse me with an irrepressible fascination with the man.
“Pardon me, milady,” Mary says as she enters the room. “A letter just arrived from Oxford.”
“Oh, it must be from Robert,” I say and reach eagerly for the letter. “Thank you.”
She bobs a curtsy and leaves me at the desk to read. My eyes scan through it first. I want to be sure he is coming for my debut. Once I see he is and will be arriving later today, I read it again, slowly. The letter is short, mostly well-wishes and tales of outings with his friends, and it only makes me miss him more.
I carry the letter upstairs and glance in Lucy’s room, but she must still be with Miss Watts. As I walk into my room, I see my mother’s journal glowing softly on a chair near my bed.
I rush over and open it with such eagerness I nearly drop it.
My dearest Katherine,
By now your debut will be upon you. Though I never made a formal debut before the Court, I remember the first ball I ever attended: a glowing night of dancing, music, and most importantly, meeting your father. I know you think finding a suitor is silly or inconsequential, but for our kind, it is important—at least if we want to remain part of this world.
Perhaps you have already met some of the other girls who will debut with you. While some can be trusted, beware those who are blinded by jealousy. You have been given a gift that draws others to you, and many will hate you for it. Your more unusual gifts you must keep hidden, for there is no greater scandal than the one fueled by fear.
I wish I could be there with you, my darling. I know you will be breathtaking.
With much love,
Mama
Tears fill my eyes, and I slam the book closed. Her words are so beautiful. The pain cuts through me like a dagger. At least I know to whom this letter refers—Eliza and girls like her.
I’ve seen her once or twice since that day in the park, and though she was careful not to shun me in front of Grandmama, her demeanor was undoubtedly cold. Though I watched her carefully, she never gave a hint of knowing the truth about me. But of course, I’m not entirely sure what to watch for. I can only imagine what it will be like when we are in each other’s company every night at the balls.
The soft glow of the journal draws my attention once again. Strange, since it usually fades once I’ve read the entry.
I open it and reread my mother’s words. When I get to the bottom of the page, I find the reason for the glow. Another rune. My finger hovers over it. I should run and find Lucy; she could tell me its meaning. It’s shaped like an hourglass tipped on its side, but I know it must represent something else. In the end, I cannot resist the possibility of seeing more of Mama’s realm.
I touch the rune.
A surge of energy, and then my room in London disappears. In its place is a rocky countryside. The sky is gray overhead, with still darker clouds threatening to release a tumult of rain. In the distance, a rock formation looms.
Katherine, a voice whispers in my mind.
The fox with the turquoise eyes moves into view. It starts to move away, only to stop and look back again. I make the decision to follow, and once I do, I’m transported forward until a pile of jagged rock stands overhead. The rocks form a bridge of sort, cut by centuries of wind and rain.
Here, the voice says.
Where is this? I want to ask, but cannot. I am formless in this vision; I can only see what is before me with no other power over my environment.
The fox looks at me again, innate intelligence in its gaze.
The vision fades as quickly as it came.
A commotion by the stairs draws my attention, and I get to my feet just as my grandmother sweeps into my room, her eyes brighter than I’ve ever seen them.
“My dear, you must get dressed,” she says, even her words hurried.
My mind still transported to another place, I can only blink at her. What was that place? Was it in this realm or my mother’s? What is she trying to tell me?
“Katherine, for goodness sake, girl, did you not hear me?” my grandmother says. “Get dressed.”
Before I can ask why, she walks back into the hall and calls for my maid. When Mary enters and bobs a curtsy to my grandmother, she looks just as confused by Grandmama’s distressed look as I do.
“Yes, milady?” she asks, her thick eyebrows drawn inward.
“I need you to dress Katherine in her nicest day gown—perhaps the gold one.”
“Yes, milady.”
“Are we going out?” I try but fail to keep the exasperation from my voice.
“No, child. The earl has come to see you,” Grandmama says, matching my tone.
I freeze, and my stomach twists in surprise.
“I’d like her hair done in the same style as the night she first came,” she continues.
Mary efficiently secures my thick hair into a pompadour of which the Gibson Girl herself would be proud. She turns to my grandmother for approval.
“Yes, that’s it,” she says.
As Grandmama watches Mary help me into my dress and dictates every nuance of my look, I begin to feel more and more like a show pony groomed for a country parade.
“What would you have me say to him?” I ask, my tone sarcast
ic.
“Be sure to mention your father’s connection with his. Also, make sure he will be in attendance at your debut. Oh, and your brother’s connection to him through Oxford.”
“Speaking of Robert—”
“Mary, not the silver comb. Use the gold. There, see how well it complements her dress?”
I blow a strand of hair out of my eyes, and Grandmama narrows her eyes at me. She places her hand on my arm. “Lord Thornewood is paying you the highest honor by calling on you today. You must be above reproach.”
So many snide responses jump to the tip of my tongue, begging to be unleashed, but I force my lips into a closed-mouth smile instead. “Yes, Grandmama.”
I follow her downstairs to the parlor, thankful my irritation masks the shivery feeling in my stomach.
He waits by the window, his back to us. My anxiety intensifies as I gaze upon his perfectly tailored coat and riding breeches.
“Lord Thornewood,” my grandmother says, “how good of you to visit.”
He turns, and those dark eyes seek me out immediately. “I came to ask you to accompany me to the park this afternoon, Miss Sinclair.”
It is abominably rude for him to ignore my grandmother and address me instead, but the smile never leaves Grandmama’s face.
“It is the first time the weather has been agreeable,” he adds. “I thought we could go riding.”
“I would love to,” I say before I have even thought it through. I simply cannot resist any opportunity to get out of the house. It’s possible I’m joining a member of the Order for a ride in the park, but I would sell my soul for the chance to escape my grandmother for an hour.
He smiles as if he had no doubt I’d say yes. “I brought along one of my horses for you to ride. I’ve heard you enjoy more of a challenging mount.”
The smile overtakes my face. “This is a surprise, indeed. And a welcome diversion. I have been in need of a challenge for quite some time.”
His brows rise ever so slightly, and I shake my head inwardly at myself. Why does everything I say to this man come out coy?
“I am very glad to provide you with one. My groom has saddled the mare with a sidesaddle that I hope you will find comfortable.”
My excitement dims. A sidesaddle? Heavens, when was the last time I rode as a lady? How can I be expected to keep my balance with both legs on one side of the horse?
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll change into something more appropriate,” I say. And figure out how to do this without embarrassment.
“Katherine,” my grandmother says, “aren’t you forgetting something?”
I halt on my way out the door. Does she know of my admittedly scandalous behavior?
“Madame?”
“I have not given you permission to go,” she says, her face tight.
My cheeks flame red. I should have asked her first, but I can’t believe she’d call me out in front of Lord Thornewood. “My apologies, Grandmama. I’m afraid the excitement of the moment overtook me.”
Her face relaxes but her smile remains tight. “I understand, dear. Our schedule is open for the day, so you may go.”
“How generous of you,” Lord Thornewood drawls.
“My lord, the invitation is greatly appreciated,” she says, and I’m not sure if she deliberately mistook his tone or simply didn’t notice.
His eyes seek out mine. “It’s my pleasure.”
“Mary,” she calls, and my maid appears in the doorway. The poor girl must know to hover nearby should Grandmama need her—which is often. “Katherine will need assistance changing for a ride with Lord Thornewood.”
Mary curtsies. “Yes, mum.”
I start for the door, but my grandmother leans in close. “Perhaps the navy blue riding habit?”
Heavens, a riding habit, too? I have never understood why I must wear a skirt atop breeches instead of wearing them alone, which would be infinitely cooler and more comfortable. And combined with a shirt, jacket, cravat, top hat, and veil, it may be hours before I am ready. I nod in agreement, though, and follow Mary back to my room, gathering my energy for the day ahead. As unskilled as I am in riding sidesaddle, it will take a considerable amount of power to keep me from looking like I’ve never ridden this way a day in my life.
As promised, the mare is a challenge. Oh, she’s sweet-tempered enough, but very green. It seems as though she has very little training under the saddle, and I am certain the earl is testing me. Probably to see if I am nothing but a braggart.
I adjust my seat in the saddle to better balance the awkward way I am forced to ride. A pommel supports my right thigh, which sits slightly higher than my left leg. The majority of my weight is centered over the left side of the horse, which I know doesn’t help the mare’s balance either.
“Is the saddle comfortable?” Lord Thornewood asks as we guide our horses onto the well-worn path in Hyde Park.
“Yes, my lord, very comfortable.” I squeeze the reins when the mare tries again to break into a trot. Her frustration washes over me again and again. She wishes I would sit properly like every other rider or allow her to go faster than a walk. But she is sweet enough to fret I am about to slip off her back, for that is what it feels like to her.
“And the mare, you find her agreeable, as well?”
The mare in question tosses her head as I once again restrain her from trotting. “Yes, very agreeable.”
I risk a glance at him though I have been staring straight ahead this entire time, and he smirks at me. “You seem very tense, Miss Sinclair. Perhaps this mare was not the right choice for you?”
“Oh, no, my lord. I like her. She has spirit.”
He grins. “A good match for you then.”
I feel heat creep up my neck. I cannot tell if his comment is meant to be teasing or insulting. “I suppose you mean to say I am spirited as well. I only wonder if you join other gentlemen in thinking this is a serious character flaw in a lady.”
He guides his horse closer to mine until I can make out the flecks of amber in his dark eyes. “On the contrary,” he says in low tones that elicit a shiver from me, “I find a lady with a mind of her own intriguing.”
My inner temperature rises as I glance away from his captivating stare. “How refreshing,” I mumble.
His grin is back. “Shall we move to a faster gait? I’m sure this has become a tedious pace for you.”
“As you wish,” I say, and glance down at the mare’s long gray mane for a moment. The day is too overcast to provide me with much energy from the sun. I center myself, focusing on the stores of power I have bubbling just beneath the surface. When I release it, it tingles over my body as if I’ve submerged myself in a hot spring. I will need its energy to stay on this horse. I refuse to embarrass myself in front of Lord Thornewood. The warmth feeds every muscle in my body, strengthening them past normal human limits. I bind myself to the saddle, so the mare and I are more like one being than separate horse and rider.
I know it works when the mare’s ears shoot back, and emotions of surprise replace her earlier frustration.
Lord Thornewood’s bay gelding transitions into a smooth canter, and I ask my mare to do the same. She responds instantly, and I let the tense muscles in my neck and shoulders relax. My body moves with her, and she relaxes, too.
I shoot him a sly grin. “Care to race?”
He gives me a look of surprise but quickly recovers. “How can I ignore such a challenge? Where to?”
“The bridge?”
He gives one short nod. “Ladies first. You’ll need a head start.”
I let out a very unladylike snort and ask my mare to gallop. She surges forward, and even though I know I will pay for the amount of energy it takes to keep me in the saddle, I cannot keep the smile from my face.
It isn’t long before the earl’s horse and mine are neck and neck, and I shake out the reins to encourage her to take longer strides. A bead of sweat slips down my spine beneath my warm riding jacket despite the cool weath
er. As my mother always taught me, arcana has its limits. Anything that enhances my abilities as a mortal drains energy faster than small acts of arcana, like small manipulations of nature or the enchantment of my music. The more I use this type of power to stay in the saddle, the more it draws from my life energy. When it becomes more difficult to draw a breath, I know I’m approaching my limit, but I’m having too much fun to slow.
His horse overtakes mine at the last second, and I pull my mare to a halt beside the river.
“Good race,” he says with an almost boyish grin.
“A very good race indeed,” I say. “I can hardly catch my breath.” As though noticing my short breaths, the clouds move aside for the sun. With its light, I breathe a little easier.
Lord Thornewood reaches out and pats my mare on the neck. He glances up at me, eyes still bright from the exercise. “You handled her well.”
I smile back. “I’m not entirely incompetent on a horse.”
He opens his mouth to reply, but the shrill cry of a woman’s voice stops him. We both turn toward the river, seeking the source.
A woman not much older than me runs frantically in the direction of a small child toddling toward the water on the opposite bank. He stumbles, rights himself, and continues toward the gray water, heedless of the danger it presents.
“Good God, she’ll never make it,” Lord Thornewood says and wheels his horse around toward the bridge. I watch them gallop away for a moment before returning my attention to the boy.
Apprehension grips me as all my mother’s warnings resound in my mind. But I cannot stand by and watch this child drown. Lord Thornewood and the woman are closing fast, but not nearly fast enough.
I walk my mare forward until her front hooves are in the water. “Easy there,” I murmur to her as I send my power traveling down the length of her legs. She twitches, but doesn’t move. As it did the day I saved Robert, the power tugs at the very core of me, pulling energy out of me like the spindle of a spinning wheel. It shimmers over the water, and I concentrate on the mud of the opposite bank. I picture what I want: for the mud to cover the boy’s feet and create suction he cannot escape. The earth shifts in obedience to my arcana’s request. I feel it deep inside me; a force as powerful as gravity.
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