“Very well,” Margaret said, lifting her tea cup to her lips again.
“Margaret,” Helen said. “Was this the best time to do this thing with your dear son? I mean, I know you want him to have heirs and all that, but now? Things are heating up with our plans. It seems like a distraction.”
“Yes, possibly. Benjamin has been becoming more resistant to my magic, for some reason. I need another thing to tie him to me, another source of leverage.”
“And you think this Penelope woman will do that? It was obvious to me and everyone else that he’s not interested in her. How will that connect him to you?”
“She will not help there,” Margaret said. “You’re right about that. If he has a child, though, that will be better leverage than I could ever buy.”
She took a small sip as she watched Helen over the rim of the cup as she turned to leave. “Oh, and Helen…” Margaret said. When the woman turned to face her, she continued, “…good work on this so far, as always. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“You would find someone else to do what was needed,” Helen said.
“Mmm-hmm,” she murmured as she tipped the cup to her lips again.
The night of the party, after the guests were gone and the servants were cleaning up, Abigail’s thoughts ricocheted off the walls in her mind. Just when she tried to lock onto one and inspect it, it zipped away and another came to her attention. Mostly they were about Ben and the announcement that had been made earlier.
Ben—she always thought of him that way instead of as “Benjamin” or as “Master Mason”—obviously had no idea his mother would announce his engagement. Poor guy. Even knowing about it beforehand, it was a shock when Abbie heard it confirmed in public.
She wasn’t sure exactly how she felt about it. Sure, she felt bad for Ben, trapped in the scheming of his mother. The woman he was engaged to did seem to be a harpy, a conceited prig with a list of undesirable traits a mile long. She was beautiful, though. That was enough for most men. Most, but not Ben. Abbie knew enough of him to know it wasn’t sufficient for him. How miserable would his life be?
Abigail stopped short as she was picking up some empty glasses left lying about by the party guests. She felt bad for herself, too. Why was that? She had no claim on Ben, shouldn’t even be thinking about him at all, let alone thinking about having him for herself.
She had never had trouble thinking. In fact, keeping clarity of mind in stressful situations was one of her greatest strengths, one of the things that made her an outstanding operative for the coven. Why was her mind so muddled? Maybe she was getting sick or was just stressed out. She’d have to rest for a few days, take it easy and allow her body to regain equilibrium. Her body and her mind.
Abigail was given the day after the party off from work because she had been up all night serving and then awake during several hours in the morning helping to clean up. She got a full night’s—well, day’s—rest and awoke feeling less groggy than she thought she would.
She planned to stay in her room, rest, think, and maybe get a little reading done. Maybe she would go out and take a walk on the grounds if the time seemed right, so she could enjoy a little nature, but still, she mainly wanted to relax and do nothing.
Her mind jumped to thoughts of Ben and never really left. What was she doing thinking about him so much? He might be a fire warlock or a skip, and a rich snob to boot. Plus, he was now engaged to another rich snob. Thinking about him would only distract her. She didn’t have time for that. She had an important mission to complete.
What was it about him that so intrigued her? Sure, he was hot. He was her “type,” if she could be said to have a type. She hadn’t really thought about men romantically for several years. Since her mother died, her sole burning thought was to bring justice to the one who caused her mother’s death. That left little room for thinking about her own future or a love life.
What if Ben was part of it all? He was, after all, Margaret’s son. What if he was a fire warlock? Or what if he was a skip, still part of her plans and her murders, but doing so with guns or subterfuge or another type of mundane method or weapon?
But no, he couldn’t be. First, she would sense his magic if he was a warlock. Then, she got a definite feeling, a “bad vibe” when around Margaret—though it might stem from what she knew of the woman—but she got no such feeling from Ben. In fact, it was the opposite. She felt comfortable with him, safe. The excitement, that tingle when they touched hands, and more. She felt down deep in her soul that she could trust him with anything. He was an ally, even if she didn’t know how yet.
She wouldn’t base her decisions on a feeling, of course. Her mission was too important to let him in on the secret, especially when the purpose of the entire thing was to bring his mother down. He didn’t seem to get along well with her, but she was his mother, after all.
Abigail shook her head, putting both palms to it. She needed to think of the simplest of reasons, the most basic of ideas to make her decision. What decision? That question stopped her in her tracks. She had to decide…whether she wanted to pursue a relationship with Ben, or rather, to allow him to pursue one with her.
Okay, plain and simple, that was the best way to do it. He was an only, a rich snob, and he was engaged to be married. Engaged to be married. It didn’t matter if it was thrust upon him or not, he was going to be married. Abigail was raised to hold honor in high regard. It was not honorable to entertain thoughts of being with him when he was engaged. Therefore, he was unsuitable—or at least unavailable.
It was as simple as that. None of the other arguments mattered after that one. He was engaged and so she would keep him at arm’s length. Or farther. She would act professionally and appropriately with him at all times and not allow it to go further than that. She could withstand the desire to look into his eyes and to find out how he felt about things, what he was like down deep. She could and she would, starting immediately. Today.
The days following the party, Abbie was as good as her word. Whenever she saw Ben, she acted with perfect courtesy but treated him like an acquaintance. Even treating him like a friend would be too personal. She saw how it frustrated him, and it broke her heart, but she was committed. She did miss the conversations they used to have and how she could almost see his thoughts when she looked into those cool blue eyes of his. Truth be told, she missed how they had interacted, like old friends. Or new lovers. Well, not really that, but it almost felt like it sometimes. But no, she would remain steadfast.
He had been trying to chat her up, but she always found a way to stall the conversation and leave him there, bewildered. Sometimes he even looked dazed, his eyes almost glassy. What was going on with him?
She was cleaning the guest rooms one morning when he came around the corner and saw her. He jumped a little and looked around before speaking.
“Good morning, Abbie,” he said, putting on the smile he usually wore when he saw her. She loved that smile, loved it even more because she knew it was genuine. His eyes twinkled, and his whole demeanor changed. It made her body warm that he was so obviously fond of her.
“Good morning, Ben,” she said while she moved the vacuum cleaner from the hall into one of the guest rooms. She had thought of going back to calling him “Master Mason,” but that seemed petty and punitive. She didn’t want to crush him or put him down, just not allow him to get close.
“Abbie, is there something wrong?” he asked. “You seem to be avoiding me lately, not talking to me.”
“I’m talking to you now,” she said. She kept her eyes on the cord of the vacuum as she unwound it. She had already learned, the hard way, that she couldn’t maintain eye contact with him. It had almost caused her to give up the entire thing and just drown in them.
“Yeah, I guess. How are you? Is there something you want to tell me? Did I do something to upset you in any way? Sometimes I say things that are insulting to people like…you know, to people not of my social class.”
/> Abbie’s mouth dropped open. She was going to call him down for his prejudice, but he spoke too quickly for her to get a word in.
“What?” he said, slapping the side of his head. “Where did that come from? I’m sorry, Abbie. I honestly don’t know why I said that. I’ve been out of sorts lately. Can we just forget about that part? I just want to know if I have upset you.”
“No, you have always been very polite to me, very nice. I’m not upset.” She plugged the vacuum into the wall outlet. “It was nice talking to you, Ben, but I have to get this done.” She switched on the vacuum and started using it on the guest room floor.
Ben stood in the hall, scratching his head before turning and walking away. Abbie’s heart sank. He looked as if she had just slapped him. As he walked off, probably headed toward the gym, she wondered for the hundredth time if she was doing the right thing.
Chapter 15
“Ahh,” Margaret Huntsman said, “Benjamin, dear. I’m glad you came so quickly, that you were on the estate. I had hoped you weren’t on one of your little jaunts.”
Ben stepped into his mother’s study. He had been relaxing in his rec room, thinking about how to get Abigail alone so he could talk to her when his mother summoned him. It was always best to come right away when she called. He had played little games in the past, delaying and making her wait, but those never ended well. It was easiest—and wisest—just to go with it and see what she wanted.
He never relished going to that study. He could remember no occasions when a visit to the room ended happily. What was it this time? Was she promising someone that he would have children right away? Had she changed her mind and engaged him to someone even more distasteful than Penelope?
He stood there looking at his mother, not bothering to say anything. She would tell him why he had been called to her.
“I have decided that you and Penelope must get to know each other better. After all, you’ll be married soon, so you should start spending time together.”
Only then did Ben notice another person in the room. It was just a slight motion caught in the corner of his eye, but he knew what he would find when he turned his head to look.
Yes, a beautiful, slender woman was standing there, chin up, back straight, looking like the very image of a young socialite. Penelope was beautiful, he had to admit. Her chestnut hair hung down past her shoulders in soft, wavy curls, framing her oval face and brown eyes. She pouted her full, glossy red lips just short of being pinched, as they always were, but that didn’t detract from a face any man could happily look at for hours. The only thing that ruined her perfect composure was her hands, which she clasped in front of her. She was not quite wringing them, but it was a near thing.
When his eyes met hers, her mouth shifted up into a smile, and it almost took Ben’s breath away. He had to remind himself what bubbled underneath that beautiful exterior.
Penelope drew in a deep breath, causing interesting things to happen to the simple brown dress she wore. Ben made sure his eyes stayed on hers, no matter how much they wanted to scan the fit of the dress over her body. For some reason, he felt guilty that he even wanted to look at her like that.
“Benjamin,” she purred. “It is so nice to see you again.”
“Hi, Penelope,” he said flatly. Turning to his mother, he asked the obvious question. “Mother, what is this all about?”
Margaret had noticed his reaction to seeing Penelope, and a small smile played across her face before she banished it. “As I said, I think it would be good for you two to spend some time together. So, we are going to Europe.”
The news hit Ben like a punch in the gut.
“What? Europe? We just went there last year. When do you propose to go to Europe?”
Margaret eyed him coldly. “I do not propose anything, Benjamin. I am telling you we are going, and we are going…oh.” She looked at her watch. “Now. The jet is fueled up and waiting for us. Don’t bother packing. We can get whatever you need there. We’ll be staying at our estate in France. At least at first. Who knows where we’ll end up?”
Every excuse he could think of ran through Ben’s mind. How could he get out of this? He didn’t want to go to Europe, and he definitely didn’t want to spend hours a day with Penelope. Or his mother, for that matter. As he called any excuse he could think of to his mind and then rejected each one in turn as being too weak to be effective, the moment was taken from him.
“So,” Margaret said, “we’re all here and ready. Let us go. Europe awaits.”
Ben allowed Penelope to put her arm in his as they shuffled toward the waiting car behind his mother. His mind swirled with ideas on how to escape, but it was already too late. He imagined himself a prisoner in shackles making his way to the execution room.
Just before reaching the front door, Ben felt someone’s gaze settle upon him, and he looked up. Abigail stood there, just to the side of the entry hall, looking at him. He stared back, met her eyes with a miserable look, and then he was through the door, Penelope chattering away on his arm.
Abbie was surprised to see Ben. Actually, she was surprised to see him with his mother and that woman, Penelope. She had expected him to track her down and try to talk to her this morning. She guessed she knew why he didn’t.
Where were they going? Ben had not spent any time with his fiancée since the engagement announcement. He had told Abbie that he did not like the woman at all, that he was doing his best to figure out how to get out of the engagement. Had he changed his mind? Had her actions caused him to change it?
She realized that she was standing there staring at the closed front door where he and Penelope had passed moments before. Looking around to see if anyone saw her standing there looking longingly toward where Ben had gone, she saw Arianna smiling at her from the other side of the hall. It was not a friendly smile.
Abbie turned and walked away, not looking back. She knew Arianna’s eyes followed her as she retreated, but there was nothing she could do. Abbie hoped the other woman didn’t see anything or didn’t understand if she did see. It hardly mattered at this point. Abbie felt as if she was going to be sick.
While Ben and Margaret were away, Abigail thought it would be the perfect time for her to get the evidence she needed. Thinking of her mission made her feel a little better, or at least distracted her from what her heart really wanted her to think about.
Okay, Abigail, she thought, now is your chance. Push all your little childish romantic notions from your head and focus on the mission. Where could she go to find an item that had been subjected to Margaret’s magic?
Her bedroom didn’t seem like a likely choice. Abbie herself rarely used magic in her room. There was really no need. Sure, she levitated items to herself occasionally, but little spells like that wouldn’t leave any appreciable residue. Where else?
From her observations, it seemed Margaret Huntsman spent most of her time in one of three offices. She called them studies, but it was the same thing. She used one more often than the others, though, one that wasn’t in the block of her rooms on the third floor. She had seen Ben coming from that first-floor study once, unhappy at whatever they’d discussed. That was the one she would search.
It wasn’t too unusual for the maids to help out in areas they were not assigned, so though she usually cleaned on the second floor, it was feasible that she might be on the floor below. Without Margaret in the house, she should be able to go in, make a quick search, try to find something with residue on it, take it, and leave without being seen. She would wait until the evening when the house became quieter and then do it.
At the appropriate time, Abbie headed over to the study. She didn’t bring her cart, only a basket of supplies: furniture polish, a feather duster, some rags, and glass cleaner. She didn’t want the presence of the cart outside the room to tip anyone off she was there. She made her way down the hall to the carved wooden doors and turned the knob.
Rather, she tried to turn the knob. It was locked. Damn. She guess
ed that she would have to try another time. She pushed on the door in frustration and it swung open. The latch hadn’t engaged all the way. What great luck. She darted a look up and down the hall and entered the room, switching on the lights as she did so. She also unlocked the door handle.
She knew better than to search the room in the dark. If she did that and someone caught her in there, she would be in trouble for sure, with no way to explain herself. Abbie set about dusting and cleaning, keeping her senses open to any magic she might feel.
As she came around the desk, wiping down the surface with one of her towels, she felt a small residue of magic. Bringing her face closer to the desk, she searched for its source.
“What are you doing in here?” a voice demanded from the doorway. “And what are you doing with your face so close to Madame’s desk?”
Abbie didn’t jump—thank goodness—and she knew better than to act nervous. She brought the towel up to where her face was, a few inches from the desk’s surface, and she rubbed at an imaginary spot. Lifting her head back up, she smiled as if she had solved a problem.
“I’m cleaning,” Abigail said.
Harper Addinson stood there in her favorite stance, legs wide and fists on hips. “Who told you to clean in here?”
“No one,” Abbie said as innocently as she could manage. “It occurred to me as I passed carrying my tray that it would be a good time to clean, with Ms. Huntsman gone.”
“This study was supposed to have been locked. You’re not supposed to be in here.”
“I’m sorry. I thought my job was to clean. I’ll ask Mrs. Roberts about it.”
“There’s no need for that,” the woman snapped. So, she didn’t have authority over this room. She figured she’d lord it over Abbie. “Just leave. I will take care of this room.”
“Okay,” Abbie said. “I’m sorry if I stepped on your toes. I was only trying to help. It won’t happen again.”
Water & Flame (Witches of the Elements Series Book 1) Page 9
