by M. J. Putney
She wasn’t really flying, she decided. Not like a bird, not like a Turk on a flying carpet. But she could float safely and control her direction and speed if she concentrated.
Her new ability wasn’t very useful, apart from allowing her to get books from the top shelves in her father’s library. Tiring, Tory descended too fast and banged hard on the carpet.
She winced as she rubbed the stinging sole of her right foot. She must take more care in the future.…
No! She would never fly—float—again. Doing so was wrong, and exhausting as well. Tory could barely manage to climb the steps up into her bed.
Tory rolled into a ball under the covers, shivering despite the warm night. It was impossible to deny the truth. She, Lady Victoria Mansfield, youngest of the Earl of Fairmount’s three children, had been cursed with magic from her unknown great grandmother.
But she wouldn’t let it ruin her life. She wouldn’t!
CHAPTER 2
“Tory!”
The annual Fairmount summer fete was in full roar. Tory could barely hear her best friend calling over all the happy chatter. Every person of consequence in western Somersetshire was on the Fairmount lawn today. Bright banners flew from canvas pavilions while a string quartet brought all the way from London filled the air with music.
Tory cut through the crowd to meet Louisa Fisk outside the sprawling food pavilion. As they hugged, Louisa exclaimed, “What a lovely day! I was afraid all the rain we’ve had this week would ruin the fete, but today there’s not a cloud in the sky.”
“The weather is always fine for our lawn fete.” Tory grinned. “My mother will not permit rain and cold to ruin it.”
“Does your father hire a weather mage every year?” Louisa asked.
“No, we’re just lucky.” Tory’s words were light, but a sobering thought struck her. Though Mama concealed her magic, she hadn’t said she never used it. Might the very proper Countess of Fairmount create lovely sunny days for her entertainments?
In the fortnight since she’d learned of her magical ability, Tory spent all her spare time learning how to suppress it. She’d found a slim volume in her father’s library called Controlling Magic by An Anonymous Lady. She’d read through the book three times and practiced the exercises daily. According to the Anonymous Lady, control was mostly a matter of will, and Tory had plenty of will.
Louisa said teasingly, “Lord Harford’s carriage wasn’t far behind us, so your Edmund will be here soon.”
“He’s not my Edmund.” Tory looked down, blushing. “But … I shall be glad to see him. Do you think he’ll notice how I’ve grown?”
“He’ll notice!” Her friend scanned the crowd. “Has Mr. Mason arrived?”
Tory nodded toward a small group of young gentleman standing at the far edge of the lawn. “He’s over there with my brother. It would be most polite to go and offer your greetings. One smile and Mr. Mason will be dazzled.”
“I hope so!” Louisa adjusted her flowered bonnet, then headed purposefully toward her quarry.
Tory silently wished her friend luck. Louisa and Tory had shared tutors, dreams, and gossip over the years. Though Louisa’s father was a vicar and had only a modest fortune, the Fisks were well connected—Louisa’s mother was second cousin to a duke. Since Louisa was also pretty, intelligent, and charming, she would marry well. Frederick Mason was a fine choice, both pleasant and in line to inherit a handsome manor nearby.
Tory collected an apple tart from the food pavilion, then glanced toward the house to see if Edmund Harford and his family had arrived. Not yet.
She loved this annual gathering. Her brother, Geoffrey, Viscount Smithson and heir to the earldom, was visiting with his wife and their adorable two-year-old son. Her big, good-natured brother had moved to an estate in Shropshire when he married, and she missed him dreadfully.
It was Geoffrey who had taught her to ride, patiently leading her pony around the ring as she learned how to keep her balance and control her mount. He’d taught her how to fall, too, because riding meant falling.
Her sister, Sarah, eight years older than Tory, was to be married before Christmas, and her fiancé had come for the fete. As a small child, Tory had followed her big sister around like a puppy. Sarah had been remarkably patient.
Tory looked again toward the house to see if Edmund Harford and his parents had appeared. Not yet.
She was finishing her apple tart when Sarah and her fiancé, Lord Roger Hawthorne, joined her. “You’re looking very grown-up, Tory,” Lord Roger said with a smile. “Soon you’ll be as pretty as your sister.”
“Never that,” Tory said with regret. Sarah had inherited her mother’s height and lush blond good looks, unlike Tory.
“Prettier.” Sarah took Roger’s arm with the confidence of a woman who knew she was loved. “She’s like a fairy sprite. With her dark hair and bewitching blue eyes, Tory will have every eligible young man in London at her feet when she’s presented.”
“I hope you’re right!” Tory said with a laugh. She watched a little enviously as the couple strolled away. They had what Tory wanted—not just a “good marriage,” but a love match. Lord Roger was kind, witty, and handsome, and he had a promising career in Parliament. Sarah would enjoy being a political wife, and the two doted on each other. What more could any girl want?
“Tory, Tory, Tory!”
She turned barely in time to catch her nephew before he could cannon into her. “How’s Jamie?” she said, brushing her hand over his soft blond curls. “Are you being a perfect little cherub today?”
Cecilia, Geoffrey’s pretty, fair-haired wife, laughed. “Definitely not a cherub, but we’re enjoying ourselves.” She scooped Jamie up. He was getting to be quite an armful. “It’s almost time for his nap.”
A pleasant male voice said, “Good day, ladies. You’re both in fine looks.”
Despite all her watching, Tory hadn’t seen Edmund coming. She blushed at the compliment as she turned to greet him. University life must have suited Edmund. He’d always been a good-looking boy. Now he had the easy confidence of a man.
Luckily her sprigged muslin dress was new and the sapphire blue ribbon trim brought out the color of her eyes. “Edmund!” she said gaily. “You look well also. I want to hear all about Cambridge.”
Edmund offered his arm to Tory. “Shall we admire the sea while I tell you tales of university life? But I can’t tell you all. Your mother wouldn’t approve!”
Laughing, she took his arm and they moved toward the cliff that bounded the far edge of the gardens. There was definite admiration in Edmund’s eyes. Sensing that he found her attractive was a heady sensation. Fluttery and breathless, like when she experimented with flying.
She mustn’t think about that. Magic was just an odd kick in her gallop, of no importance to her life. Edmund was real.
Tory felt a pang of envy as she listened to Edmund’s stories. “Your classes sound so interesting,” she observed. “It’s a pity females can’t attend. My godmother thinks there should be colleges for girls.”
“Cambridge is no place for females.” He smiled down at her. “You are much too pretty to bury yourself in dusty books, Lady Victoria.”
He said she was pretty! Though she loved learning about history and other countries, being thought pretty was so delightful she was willing to overlook his foolish belief that girls and books didn’t go together.
They reached the path that edged the cliff and turned right. As the wind whipped Tory’s skirts, she drew Edmund farther from the brink. “Stay away from the edge. The rain has made the ground soft, and bits of cliff fall off regularly.”
He obligingly moved away from the ragged edge. “I was glad today dawned so bright and clear. I’ve been looking forward to the Fairmount fete all summer.”
Her pleasure in his words was undercut by worry that her mother might have invoked the fine weather. If Mama was discovered doing such a thing, her reputation would be ruined.
Would Papa set he
r aside as his wife? Tory didn’t think so, but—she wasn’t sure. Papa took his dignity and his responsibilities very seriously. He would lose his influence in the House of Lords if the other peers knew his countess was a mage.
The pair strolled along the cliff. Tory never tired of watching the sea, and seeing it with Edmund was even better.
When the path ended at a hedge that divided the gardens from the pasture, they turned to retrace their steps. Edmund said, “I must return to Cambridge for the Michaelmas term, but I’ll be home at Christmas.” He looked down into her eyes, his gaze lingering. “I hope to see you then.”
Trying not to sound breathless, she replied, “I shall look forward to seeing you.” She was acutely aware of his strong arm under her hand. Would he prove to be the one for her? Perhaps, but she must be presented in London before making a final choice of husband.
Others were also enjoying the cliff path. A hundred yards ahead, her brother walked with some of his particular friends. Tory grinned as she saw her nephew running toward his father, chubby legs churning with delight because he’d escaped his mother.
“Papa, Papa!” Jamie called happily. He swerved onto the cliff path.
Tory’s smile froze with shock as the earth crumbled away under his pounding feet. The small blond head vanished and he fell from the cliff, still shrieking, “Papa!”
Cecilia, who had been following her son at a brisk walk, stopped dead, horrified. Then she raised her skirts and raced screaming to the cliff. “Jamie! Jamie!”
Geoffrey bolted from his friends and caught up with his wife at the edge where Jamie had fallen. More of the cliff crumbled under Cecilia’s feet.
Geoffrey grabbed his wife, jerking her back with a hoarse cry. “Cecilia!”
They tumbled to safety on solid ground, but Cecilia immediately jerked loose from her husband and began to crawl toward the cliff on hands and knees. “He was only out of my sight for a moment!” she cried, agonized.
Tory launched herself toward them but was stopped in her tracks when Edmund caught her arm. “The fewer people there, the better,” he said grimly. “That whole section is unstable.”
She bit her lip, knowing he was right. Several years back during the winter rains, a chunk the size of the Fairmount drawing room had crashed into the sea.
“Get back!” Waving his friends back, Geoffrey lay on his belly and inched forward to look over the edge. After a moment, he exclaimed, “Thank God! Jamie is caught in a clump of shrubs halfway down. Jamie, lad, can you hear me?”
“I’m sorry, Papa,” a plaintive voice called over the wind. “I didn’t mean to fall.”
“We’ll bring you up safely,” his father promised. Geoffrey’s voice was calm, but there was terror on his face.
Tory dropped to all fours and crept toward the edge so she could see. Edmund grabbed at her ankle. “Stop! The cliff is too dangerous.”
She kicked his hand away and kept crawling. “He’s my nephew! I have to see,” she retorted. “It will be all right. I don’t weigh much.”
The ground was soft under her hands and knees, and she felt a worrying tremor. She made herself think about how she was ruining her new gown rather than become paralyzed with fear that this section of cliff would also collapse.
Tory reached the edge and flattened herself on the turf. Below and a hundred yards or so to her left, Jamie was balanced precariously in the fork of a tough shrub that grew from the cliff face. He was safe for now, but the shrub could tear loose at any moment. Jamie might tire and lose his grip on the thin branches. The choppy wind might knock him off.
The child glanced her way. Though bruised and filthy, he smiled through his tears. “Aunt Tory!” His eyes were the same deep blue as hers. He opened his left hand and reached toward her, swaying badly. “I’m scared!”
Tory cringed. “Hang tight to the bush, Jamie! We’ll have you safe soon.”
He gripped the shrub again, his face woebegone. “Soon!” His voice almost vanished in the wind.
As earth crumbled under Tory’s left hand, Edmund exclaimed. “Lady Victoria, come back from there! You can’t do anything, and it’s not safe.”
“Safe enough. Jamie knows I’m here. I won’t abandon him.” And if he fell— Her heart twisted with agony. It would be an unforgivable betrayal if she was too cowardly to bear witness to his last moments.
After a long pause, he said, “Very well, if you’re sure. I’ll join the men. When ropes are brought, they’ll need someone to go down the cliff and bring the child up. I’m lighter than most, so perhaps I can help.”
“Work quickly!” She glanced over her shoulder, fighting tears. “He can’t hold on much longer.”
“Be careful, Lady Victoria.” Edmund headed toward the rescuers while Tory turned back to Jamie. Was the shrub starting to pull out from his weight?
She pushed herself up on her hands for a better view. The soil shifted menacingly. Panic shot through her—until she remembered her despised new ability. If the ground collapsed, she should be able to catch herself and float to safety. Because of her unwanted magic, she was the one person present with nothing to fear.
Ropes had arrived, and Geoffrey was being lashed into a crude harness. She frowned. Of course her brother was frantic to rescue Jamie, but he was tall and broad. Too heavy for the fragile cliff edge. She uttered a desperate prayer as he lowered himself over the brink, his ropes secured by half a dozen men. If Geoffrey were to fall …
The onlookers gasped as earth collapsed under her brother’s weight. The ropes jerked Geoffrey to a halt and he slammed into the cliff face with bruising force. Though the harness saved him, dirt and pebbles pelted downward, striking Jamie.
The child shrieked and almost lost his grip as his father was pulled to safety through a shower of continually falling debris. “Papaaa! PAPAAA!”
Tory could no longer control her tears. Jamie couldn’t hold on much longer, and she knew with ghastly certainty that the men would never reach him in time.
She was the only one who could save her nephew.
The knowledge was paralyzing. If she succeeded, she would stand revealed as a mageling in front of everyone important in the county. She would lose everything.
Tory whimpered. She couldn’t do this, she couldn’t. She wasn’t even sure if she’d be able to float in the stiff wind. One of the fierce gusts might crash her to the rocks below.
The wind stilled for a moment and she heard desperate sobs from Jamie. She bit her lip until it bled, knowing she had no choice. She must try to save him.
If she didn’t try, no one would know of her cowardice. But Tory would. And she would never, ever forgive herself.
With everyone’s attention on the rescuers, she might be able to reach Jamie without being seen. Praying that her mysterious, untrained power wouldn’t fail, she turned and fearfully backed into the abyss.
CHAPTER 3
When Tory lowered herself over the cliff, she thought her magic would support her. But to her horror, when she stepped off her footholds she plunged downward with terrifying speed. She gave a strangled shriek and clawed frantically at the cliff face, breaking her nails on the dirt and stone.
Click! She halted in midair. Her hands dug into the cliff, but it was magic that supported her.
She drew a shuddering breath as she looked down at the smashing waves. Her slippers had fallen off and there was nothing but air between her stockinged feet and the sea. Hastily she raised her gaze to Jamie. His eyes were screwed shut and tear tracks marred his round cheeks, but he was holding on.
Glancing up, she saw that the rescue attempts had temporarily halted while the men argued about what to try next. No one was looking at her or Jamie. Perhaps she could save her nephew and get away before anyone noticed her. He was so young and upset that a garbled account of his rescue might not be believed.
Clinging to that hope, she floated to her right. The hundred yards that had appeared short from level ground seemed very long now. Touching the rough, w
et cliff face made her feel safer, though she knew safety was an illusion. If her magic failed, she was doomed.
The wind whipped around her, lifting the hem of her gown to indecent levels. Ignoring that, she concentrated on her nephew. Hang on just a little longer, darling!
As she neared her nephew, she said softly, “Jamie, I’m here.”
He turned his blond head, blinking owlishly. “Aunt Tory,” he whimpered. “I knew you’d come.” He lunged toward her and tumbled off his branch.
“Jamie!” Heart pounding with fear, she swooped downward and caught him. He was heavier than she expected and for a ghastly instant they were both falling.
She grabbed at her magic and they halted in midair, so low that cold spray from the smashing waves chilled her feet. Trying to sound calm, she said, “Put your arms around my neck and your legs around my waist, Jamie. We’ll be safe in a few minutes.”
Obediently he latched on like a monkey, his curly head resting on her shoulder. She wrapped her right arm around his solid little body and began floating left and up.
Rising was hard with his extra pounds weighing her down. Grimly, Tory ignored her increasing exhaustion and her aching head. It was worth using all her remaining strength to carry them as far along the cliff as she could manage. The farther they were from where Jamie fell, the less likely they were to be seen.
Wishing she could make herself invisible as well as fly, she used the last of her strength to lift them up and over the cliff edge and on to solid ground. She staggered and almost fell but managed to keep her footing. Dizzy with relief, she set Jamie down and brushed futilely at her muddy gown.
The wind stilled for a moment. In the silence, Tory heard a woman gasp, “Merciful heavens, Lady Victoria flew! How could a Mansfield be a mageling?”
Panicking, Tory straightened and saw what looked like every one of her parents’ guests. They’d been drawn to the cliff by the drama, and despite the distance she’d traveled, she had come up well within sight of the crowd.
