Courting Magic: A Kat, Incorrigible Novella

by Burgis, Stephanie

  “Pardon me…” Ducking her head, she hurried past us toward the door.

  I thought about pointing out, to be helpful, that she’d missed a trick with her repairing spell—her eyes weren’t nearly as shocking a blue-violet as they had been ten minutes earlier, and her nose still had a tiny bump in its bridge that she must not have noticed. Something about the new angles of her face seemed oddly familiar, actually—but Angeline’s meaningful cough distracted me before I could say a word.

  Then the door fell closed behind Mrs. Montrose…and I realized we were alone in the room together. Curses. It was definitely time for a sisterly lecture.

  “I should really go back and join Lord Lanham for supper…” I began, backing away.

  “Not until you’ve got rid of that ridiculously vulgar set of jewelry you’ve magicked up,” said Angeline. “Not to mention offering an explanation of what on earth you were thinking in the first place!”

  Then she sighed. “Or do I really have to ask?” Shaking her head, she walked over to the mirror to peer critically at her own reflection. “Only you, Kat! Your very first Society ball, and you’ve already offended the Prince of Wales himself. Who will you aim for next, I wonder? The Queen? The King? The Archbishop of Canterbury?”

  Well, I certainly wasn’t going to run away from this.

  “Very amusing,” I said, and narrowed my eyes at her reflection as I shattered my own illusion spell and brought my modest jewelry back into sight. “I didn’t say anything offensive to the Prince. I simply didn’t wish to leave the ballroom with him—a decision which you should approve of, as my chaperone! And I would have found a way out of it even without your help, you know.” …I hope, I added silently. But really, I would have, wouldn’t I?

  “Hmm,” she said skeptically. “You certainly looked as if you’d got in over your head. You were opening and closing your mouth like a fish.”

  “Grrrr!” I’d clenched my teeth together, but I couldn’t hold back the growl that exploded from my chest. “For heaven’s sake, how would you have managed it, if you’d been asked for a private rendezvous with the Prince?”

  “I wouldn’t have given him the opportunity in the first place,” she said sternly. “I’ve heard of his reputation, even if you have not. I can’t imagine what possessed Lord Lanham to introduce you.”

  Well, there were a great many things I could have said to that, beginning with some very pointed remarks about Angeline’s own exploits with a certain notorious viscount in her younger days.

  If I started down that road, though, we would never return to the ballroom, so, regretfully, I chose discretion over valor. “The Prince is a family friend of his,” I said, shamelessly tossing the Marquess’s judgment to the ashes. “I suppose he didn’t think anything of it.”

  “Hmm.” Angeline raised one eyebrow as she twitched the shoulder of her cherry-red gown into perfect symmetry. “Well, careless or not, Lord Lanham certainly seems interested in you. Stepmama could hardly restrain herself after the two of you began to dance. She was already imagining herself a Marquess’s mother-in-law, and planning how best to gloat over the Squire’s wife about it.”

  Oh, dear. That stirred up all sorts of nightmarish possibilities…but it was time to do my duty as a Guardian, whether I liked it or not. “Is it too late for us to issue any more invitations to your dinner party on Wednesday?”

  “You were hoping for me to invite Lord Lanham?” Angeline asked, casually spreading open her fan and running her forefinger along the edges. “Or were you thinking of anyone else, perhaps?”

  I eyed her warily. “Well…I thought perhaps three more invitations altogether? Lord Lanham, Mr. Harding, and…” I sighed inwardly, but carried it through. “…Mr. Packenham as well?”

  “Aha!” Angeline snapped the fan shut, smirking. “I knew you’d offer up at least one decoy to distract attention. If you’re offering two, though, you must be truly desperate…and no wonder. Stepmama will never approve your choice.”

  “My—! He’s not—! I…” I caught myself with a jolt. “I don’t know what you mean,” I said, with as much dignity as I could summon. “But if you think I’m throwing myself at the Marquess of Lanham…”

  “Oh, nicely done, Kat,” Angeline said. “A valiant effort. But no, I wasn’t referring to the wealthy and entirely respectable Marquess. I was referring instead to the much more mysterious young man who avoided answering a single one of Stepmama’s questions about his family or his situation in life….while you spent the whole time gazing at him as if he were a chocolate ice you wanted to devour.”

  “Oh, now, that’s a charming image.” My face burned. “But if you’re quite finished being vulgar…” I turned toward the door, feeling my pulse against my throat like a beat of shame.

  “Kat.” My sister’s voice had softened. “It won’t do, you know. You cannot marry a man with no fortune, prospects or connections. Stepmama isn’t the only one who would insist that you refuse such a match.”

  “You mean, just as Frederick’s mother refused to let him court you?” I swung back around. “How many prospects or connections did you have when he fell in love with you?”

  Angeline’s color heightened, but her voice didn’t rise. “Even you must see the difference. Frederick had a fortune of his own. You may have a dowry now, but it isn’t enough to support two people through a life together. Unless you wish to tell me that your Mr. Harding has a wealthy uncle, or a respectable profession…”

  I clenched my hands into fists. “So you’re telling me that you wouldn’t have married Frederick if he hadn’t had a fortune?”

  “You know perfectly well that that isn’t the case!” Angeline was glaring too, now. “But I knew what Frederick was to me, in case you’ve forgotten. Are you really going to tell me that this Mr. Harding is your one true love?”

  I opened my mouth. Then I slammed it shut again, fighting back the impossible word that wanted to come out.

  Angeline had summoned Frederick to her with a true-love spell, and it had brought him walking halfway across the country, entranced against his will. It had taken tears and pain before he had forgiven her, but they both knew what the spell had meant.

  I didn’t know which part frightened me more: that I had come so close to answering Angeline without a thought; or that a horrible, creeping part of me wanted to cast the same spell myself and know for certain.

  The thought of Alexander dropping to his knees, all stiffness and pretenses gone, and begging me to marry him, as Frederick had begged the first time he’d seen Angeline…

  No! I slammed the door shut on that fantasy with all my might. Sickness roiled in my stomach.

  My mother and my sister had both used witchcraft against the men they loved, and they had both regretted it deeply. I was a Guardian. I would not do the same.

  And I would not have this conversation any longer, even with myself.

  I said, with icy dignity, “The supper gong sounded several minutes ago. I don’t know about you, but I shouldn’t like to miss my meal.”

  Angeline looked at me for a long, fraught moment. Then she took a deep breath. “Very well, Kat,” she said. “But no matter how it makes you feel…even you can’t ignore the truth forever.”

  ***

  We were late to supper, naturally. The Marquess, equally naturally, had waited for me. He was far too much of a gentleman to abandon his dance partner, or to make any comment when I sat beside him in grim near-silence, barely picking at the food on my plate.

  Alexander was nowhere to be seen.

  I hated that I couldn’t stop myself from looking for him. I hated that my sister’s words wouldn’t stop echoing in my head.

  The state of his clothing when we’d first met had told its own damning story about his income, but that was almost the only story I knew about his life since we’d last met. I knew that he caught magical criminals for his Order as I did for mine. I knew that he must be committed to his work, or he wouldn’t have subjected himsel
f to the disdain of my Order in order to pursue the rogue witch across social barriers. But I didn’t even know if he had a secondary profession nowadays, or whether his Order supported him somehow. I knew far too little about him, obviously, to even consider marrying him.

  Not that he had asked me yet—or ever would, if I knew anything about the pride that had driven him ever since we’d first met.

  That was what he’d meant with his cryptic words after our dance set, wasn’t it? He’d spent his whole childhood having it drummed into him that he wasn’t good enough for the world of his aristocratic father, no matter what his strength and loyalty. Now, no matter how he felt, he would never take away my place in that world by asking me to marry him. Which was fortunate, as apparently my family wouldn’t dream of allowing me to accept.

  So it all worked out very neatly, didn’t it? No proposals would be made, and therefore none would be refused. And there was no reason at all for my throat to feel so chokingly tight, or for tears to build up horrifyingly close behind my eyes.

  I would not be the girl who wept at her début. Instead I gritted my teeth and forced myself to spear a slice of cold ham with my knife.

  “So,” I said to the Marquess. “What do you think our next move should be?”

  He gave a start, and I realized he hadn’t even been looking at me. His brooding gaze had been resting beyond my shoulder, in the same direction from which I could hear Lucy’s high, infectious laugh.

  Still, he focused on me when I spoke and even leaned a fraction of an inch closer to reply. “I am glad to see you recovered, Miss Stephenson. I wished to say…” He stopped to clear his throat, an expression of acute discomfort on his face. “That is, if you will allow me to express…I very much hope…”

  He took a quick, desperate-looking swallow of his wine, looking as if he needed it for fortification along a hideously embarrassing path. “You must not attach too much blame to yourself for the misery you are presently suffering, Miss Stephenson. No one who truly understood the situation could think harshly of you for it.”

  “They…couldn’t?” Horror nearly strangled my words as I looked into the Marquess’s earnest, worried face. No wonder he’d barely been able to force out the words to talk to me about it.

  Suddenly, I was intensely grateful that Alexander wasn’t in the room. I wasn’t sure I could face him again, not now or ever…not if I really had been that obvious.

  Angeline might have guessed how I felt even before I knew it, but she was my sister. She knew me better than anyone else in the world. If even the Marquess had noticed how I felt, though, I must have looked like an utterly love-struck fool.

  Then again, how had Angeline described the way I looked at Alexander?

  I set my knife down and shoved my plate away, desperately trying to gather some composure. “My lord, I think…I mean, of course I’m grateful for your sympathy, but—”

  “I am equally to blame,” said the Marquess, and stopped my panicked babble in its tracks.

  I took a deep, steadying breath and looked hard at my supper companion. “You are?”

  “Of course,” he said, dropping his voice to a whisper. “It was I who told you that the man we saw couldn’t possibly be the true Prince of Wales. How could you know better when you’ve only just entered Society? I was the one who misled you. Every action you took from then onwards, no matter how unwise, was only in pursuit of our goal, and based on my error in judgment.” His face twisted as if in anguish. “I can only call it unforgivable.”

  “Oh, well.” As my shoulders relaxed, I managed a generous smile. “I wouldn’t say unforgivable.”

  “I would,” the Marquess said glumly. “And when Mr. Gregson finds I was responsible for the public humiliation of an innocent young lady…”

  “You were?” I asked. Then I understood. “Oh, wait. You mean me?”

  He blinked. “Who else could I mean?”

  “But you were worried about telling Mr. Gregson?” I laughed, the last of my tension releasing from my chest. “Trust me, my lord.” I patted his hand reassuringly. “As Mr. Gregson would be the first to tell you, I’m not likely to be withered by a little public embarrassment. Truly, it was nothing.”

  “It is kind of you to say so, Miss Stephenson,” said the Marquess, “and I shall not forget your generosity. But no matter what brave pretense you may assume, I can see from your face that you have been suffering, and at my hand. I only hope I can find a way to make it up to you somehow.”

  “Oh, you certainly can,” I told him. I picked up my knife again and re-speared my slice of ham with far more enthusiasm this time as I grinned at the no-longer-quite-so-statue-like Marquess. “All you need to do is tell me which fabulously amusing anecdote you decided to share with all those ladies near the Prince.”

  He winced, but for the first time since we’d met, there was a hint of rueful humor in his expression. “Must I?” he said. “It was one of the most horrifying moments of my life.”

  “Then I would say that we’re even.” Feeling much better—and suddenly starving—I shoveled a massive bite of game pie into my mouth…

  …And nearly choked on it as Alexander’s voice suddenly filled my head, resonating with the force of a magical power so strong, it made every inch of me spark in answer. “Kat,” he murmured in my mind. “Will you come and find me? I need to talk to you, in private.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Well, I’m not a complete ninnyhammer. Once I’d finally managed to stop coughing and I’d washed down the remainders of my mouthful with a quick swig of lemonade, I knew exactly what Alexander must be thinking of to summon me that way…and it had nothing to do with romance.

  Of course, if he had been in the room with me, the sight of me sputtering over my meal likely would have cured him of any romantic thoughts anyway. But at least, for once, making a fool of myself in public had a useful consequence. No one looked at me twice as I rose from the table at the end of my coughing fit and slipped away with a napkin pressed firmly to my lips.

  I found him waiting for me in the corridor outside, leaning against the striped blue-and-gold wallpaper. He straightened when he saw me, his lips curving. Candles lined the walls in elegant sconces, casting a warm glow of light that seemed to burnish Alexander’s brown, curling hair. As our gazes met, I had to fight the sudden, irrational urge to run to him as if I were coming home—but the sound of the supper crowd in the room that I’d just left was a dull roar behind my back, while the jingle of dishes in the distance signaled the next course on its way.

  Besides, we were only here together for the Order’s sake.

  “This isn’t a safe place to meet,” I said, as briskly as if I’d never heard of an irrational impulse in my life. “If anyone sees us whispering alone together…”

  “Of course.” He stepped back, his expression closing off. “Forgive me. I only—”

  “I know exactly where we should go,” I said, and beckoned him to follow me.

  Mr. Packenham was good for something after all. Without him, I never would have thought of the perfect private meeting spot.

  We weren’t the only couple to have thought of it, though. As we stepped through the open French doors into the cool darkness of the back gardens, I glimpsed other shadowy figures moving in the distance. Fortunately, none of them were eager to be seen, either, and none of them had stayed close enough to the house to catch our words if we spoke in low tones. I hurried down the wide steps, pulling Alexander with me, and tugged him across the grass into the shade of a tall sweet chestnut tree. Alexander had to duck his head to follow me under the spreading branches.

  “Tell me,” I said as I let go of his arm. “What have you discovered?”

  In the darkness, I couldn’t make out his features. I heard the small huff of a half-laugh that he let out, though, before he said, “Actually, you should ask me what I smelled.”

  “The rogue illusionist?” I grabbed his arm again without thinking. “I can scarcely believe it. He�
�s really here tonight, after all?”

  “Well…” Alexander shifted, his broad shoulders blocking most of the light from the house. “It’s a bit of a mystery, actually. The scent I caught was so close to his, it was almost identical…but not quite. It didn’t feel like him.”

  “Really?” I blinked, suddenly realizing that I had my fingers tightly wrapped around his forearm, through the thick, soft fabric of his coat sleeve. I stepped back quickly, glad that he couldn’t see my face as I released him. “I’ve never known two witches to carry the same scent.”

  “Nor have I,” he said, “and here’s an added mystery: the new scent came from just outside the ladies’ retiring room. I caught it there just after you left. Could there have been any men hiding inside during your visit?”

  “While we were in there?” Eucch. What a wretched idea! Luckily, it only took me a moment to dismiss it. “Not possible,” I said firmly. “The room was absolutely empty apart from me and Angeline, and she certainly didn’t do any magic while we…oh.” I took a quick breath. “Did it smell of burnt sugar?”

  “Yes. The rogue’s does, too. But it’s not quite as…” Alexander let out a sound of frustration. “Oh, it’s impossible to describe the difference. But this was very, very close to the rogue’s scent without being quite the same.”

  “I know who gave off that scent,” I said. “There was another lady, Mrs. Montrose, doing magic in the room when we first arrived. But she was only casting a minor illusion spell to improve her appearance. She was the one whose spell I snapped earlier.”

  “Mm.” There was an odd tone to Alexander’s voice this time; I had a nasty suspicion that he was suppressing a laugh. “I wondered just what had happened there.”

  “I suppose you felt the spell snap, even from a distance.” I sighed. “Well, I’m sure no matter where you were standing, you must have seen enough to realize that that was the real Prince of Wales, after all.”

  “That I did.” That hint of a laugh disappeared entirely, leaving a hard edge behind. “I saw him doing his best to hold you trapped afterwards, too.”