A Matter of Magic

by Patricia C. Wrede

  “Now, that is the outside of enough!” said one of the other gentlemen, arriving just too late to put forward his own claim. “It’s taking unfair advantage, that’s what it is. You’d be justly served, Harry, if my friends were to call upon you in the morning.”

  “You’ve no one but yourself to blame,” the marquis said, grinning unrepentantly. “If you hadn’t been so determined to cut me out for the galliard earlier, you might have secured this last dance yourself.”

  “If you weren’t given to underhanded tactics, I wouldn’t have needed to,” the other retorted.

  Lord Franton only laughed and swept Kim off on his arm.

  As they made their way in to dinner, Lord Franton said, “I don’t believe I’ve told you how impressed I was by your introductory illusion.”

  “I was worried that no one would like it,” Kim confessed. Although “not liking it” wasn’t quite what she meant. But she couldn’t bring herself to tell Lord Franton, Marquis of Harsfeld, that she hadn’t been sure about the wisdom of flaunting her past as a street thief in front of a bunch of toffs, no matter what Mairelon and Lady Wendall had said. Judging by people’s reactions so far, however, they had been right in advising her not to fret.

  “It was . . . unusual,” the marquis said in a thoughtful tone. “I assume the details were accurate?”

  “We spent a lot of time getting it right,” Kim said. “I think climbing roses would have been easier.”

  The marquis laughed. “So someone told you that that’s what the young ladies normally do. This was much more original and memorable, believe me.” His face grew serious. “It’s a bit like the Cinderella fairy tale for you, isn’t it? Except that you’ve had a magician for a godfather instead of a fairy godmother.”

  “And my clothes won’t turn to rags at midnight,” Kim said lightly. “And I don’t have to try to dance in glass slippers.” And Cinderella didn’t have to be talked into it; she wanted to go to the ball.

  “I can’t imagine how your magical godfather happened to overlook so many important details,” the marquis said, shaking his head in mock sadness. “It seems a shocking oversight.”

  “He’s . . . had a lot on his mind,” Kim said.

  “At least he has not stinted in the matter of handsome princes,” Lord Franton said. “There seem to be any number of candidates eager to apply for the position.” He nodded in the direction of the still faintly glowering young man who had hoped to take Kim in to supper.

  “Well, it’s a good thing there are,” Kim said, falling in with his bantering tone. “The Prince of Wales is above my touch, and the only other prince I know of is Prince Durmontov. He was invited, but he’s away until next week.”

  “Ah?” Lord Franton gave her a sharp look. “Perhaps that is as well for the rest of us.” He did not pursue the matter further, but instead turned the conversation to Mairelon’s exploits during the French war. He seemed quite disappointed when Kim professed ignorance of any details.

  “You’ll have to ask Mairelon about that,” Kim told him. “Or Hunch; he was there for a lot of it.”

  “Hunch?” Lord Franton looked puzzled.

  “He’s . . .” Kim hesitated, unable to think of a suitable description. “He works for Mairelon.”

  Lord Franton nodded. “I wanted to join the army, when I was younger,” he said a little wistfully. “I even thought about running away and enlisting.”

  “You did? Why? I mean, why didn’t you?”

  “Responsibilities. By the time I would have been old enough, I was the heir to the title and there was no getting out of it.” He grimaced. “The army is much too risky a place for a future marquis.”

  “Oh.” Kim found it difficult to understand why anyone would want to hare off to some foreign country in order to eat short rations and get shot at, but it wouldn’t do to say so. Still, it was one thing to join up because you didn’t want to see the French marching up High Holborn, and quite another to go off just because you wanted an “adventure.” Toffs could be incomprehensible.

  Lord Franton seemed to sense her mood, and did not pursue the subject. Instead, he amused her with unexpected comments and stories about the dignified ladies and gentlemen conversing with such elegance around the tables. It made Kim feel much more at ease to learn that the formidable Lord Benton was still known as “Piggy” because he had fallen off his horse into a sty during his second hunt, that the Carringtons kept eight pug dogs at their house in Town and a great many more at their country seat, and that the correct Lady Catherine Abelside had tried to elope with her dancing master two weeks into her first Season.

  After dinner, the dancing resumed. The last of the guests did not depart until nearly three in the morning. With evident satisfaction, Lady Wendall pronounced the party a triumph, and sent Kim off to bed, warning her once again to be sure to stay late in bed the following day.

  “Casting that illusion was more draining than you will have realized, and with the rest of the evening’s excitement, you will be far more tired than you expect,” Lady Wendall said.

  “I will make your excuses to any callers,” Mrs. Lowe put in.

  Kim nodded, though receiving callers had never been prominent among her reasons for getting up in the morning, and went up the stairs, her head still whirling with the dizzying idea that she, Kim, was an unqualified social success.

  18

  Despite Lady Wendall’s warning, Kim was amazed to find that it was long after noon the following day by the time she awoke. When she came downstairs, she was further astonished—and a bit dismayed—by the size of the stack of cards and invitations that had accumulated while she slept. Her dismay proved well-founded. When Lady Wendall reviewed them, dealing out the invitations with all the concentration of a cardsharp dealing to a bunch of flats, the pile of engagements to be accepted was enormous.

  The remainder of the week passed in a dizzying round of social activity. Kim drove in the park with no less than four gentlemen, including Lord Franton; attended a Venetian breakfast, two balls, three dinner parties, and a card party; and paid and received more calls than she could keep track of. Lord Franton called twice and turned up at dinners, balls, and assemblies with such regularity that Kim suspected he had somehow got hold of her schedule.

  She hardly saw Mairelon at all, for though he accompanied Kim and Lady Wendall to a few of the events, he generally excused himself the moment they entered the doors and went off to the card rooms. After the second ball, Kim realized that he only joined them at events where Shoreham or Kerring was likely to be present, and he could speak with them privately. It seemed excessive to her, when Mairelon already spent most of his days in one or another of their offices, but the deepening lines in Mairelon’s face prohibited comment.

  As far as Kim could tell, there had still been no progress in defeating the spell that had removed Mairelon’s magic. She did not like to ask; refraining from making irritating comments was practically the only thing she could do to help. Two days after her come-out ball, she tentatively brought up, for the second time, the subject of talking to Jemmy and Wags, and was informed that they had dropped out of sight as completely as had Mannering, at least as far as Shoreham’s informants were concerned. Privately, Kim was convinced that her chances of locating them were much better than Shoreham’s, but with all her social commitments, she did not have an unsupervised moment in which to try, even if she had been willing to break her promise to Mairelon not to do so.

  She began to look forward with considerable anticipation to Prince Durmontov’s return to the city. At least talking with the prince would give Mairelon something new to do, rather than just sitting around fretting himself to flinders.

  Kim was not the only one who had noticed Mairelon’s erratic social performance. At Lady Souftmore’s rout-party, a week after Kim’s come-out, she was accosted by Letitia Tarnower, who paid her several compliments as fulsome as they were insincere and then said, “I cannot help but wonder that your guardian does not acc
ompany you. Shall we see him later in the evening?”

  “No,” Kim said. “He’s working on something.”

  Letitia raised her eyebrows. “He is very devoted to his work, then?”

  “Yes,” Kim said. “Excuse me; I think Lady Wendall wants me for something.”

  She made her escape, but spent the next hour wondering whether she ought not to have made a push to find out more from Miss Tarnower. She felt as if she ought to tell Mairelon about the conversation, but there was so little to tell that when she imagined herself repeating it to him, she felt foolish.

  Her preoccupation continued, and after answering Mr. Cromie twice at random and throwing Lord Rencombe into a pother by the unguarded remark that his mother strongly resembled one of the apple women in Covent Garden, Kim decided that she had better get out of the crush and think for a moment.

  The throng of guests made escape difficult and privacy all but impossible. Kim checked several of the small rooms along the hall, only to find them filled with card players. She returned to the ballroom, hoping that a corner of the balcony might be empty and quiet.

  The glass balcony doors had been blocked off by a China silk screen placed several feet in front of them to prevent drafts. Kim rounded the edge just in time to see Letitia Tarnower step out onto the balcony. Another encounter with Letitia was the last thing Kim wanted; fortunately, Letitia hadn’t seen her. As she moved away from the screen and back into the ballroom, she saw Lord Gideon Starnes coming toward it from the opposite side, scanning the crowd anxiously over his shoulder as if to see whether anyone was following him. He hesitated briefly, then slipped behind the screen. An instant later, Kim saw the tops of the balcony doors open and close, the movement only just visible above the silk screen.

  Uneasy curiosity warred briefly with Lady Wendall’s instructions on proper behavior. Curiosity won. Kim eased herself behind the screen and pushed the near door open a cautious inch, then backed into the shadows behind the brocade curtains, where she was not likely to be seen from outside, and set herself to listen.

  “—can’t mean that!” Lord Starnes was saying in low, passionate tones.

  “Really, Gideon, don’t be absurd,” said a light female voice that Kim had no trouble identifying as Letitia Tarnower’s. “I most certainly can and do mean it.”

  “After all your promises, you could not be so heartless!”

  “Promises? Stuff! I was seven years old, and you no more than ten. It was children’s play, no more.”

  “I felt it more,” Lord Starnes said heavily. “I thought you did, as well.”

  “No, Gideon, you haven’t thought,” Letitia said. “I do feel something for you, but what of it? You haven’t a feather to fly with, and I won’t spend the rest of my life scrimping and fending off bailiffs the way Mama has.”

  “If it’s only the money—”

  “If you had spent your life penny-pinching and wearing made-over dresses, you wouldn’t say that it was only the money,” Letitia replied sharply, and for once Kim found herself in sympathy with the other girl. “This is my one chance at something better, and I don’t intend to waste it, Gideon.”

  “But I’ll have money soon,” Lord Starnes protested. “More than enough. If you will only wait. . . .”

  Letitia gave a tinkling laugh. “What is it this time, a sure thing in the races at Newmarket? Or will you stake your stick-pin on the turn of a card, and mend your fortunes with the winnings? And when that doesn’t come through, you’ll ask me to wait for a cockfight that’s certain to pay you a hundred to one, or for the dice to favor you. No. If you have your fortune in hand before I get Humphreys or Merrill up to scratch, you may speak to me about it then, but I won’t gamble my future on your luck.”

  Kim’s budding sympathy evaporated. It shouldn’t have been a shock to hear Letitia state her intentions toward Mairelon so baldly, not after the way the girl had been behaving, but a shock it was, nonetheless.

  “Lord Humphreys,” Lord Starnes said with disgust. “He’s ten years older than your father!”

  “So much the better,” Letitia replied. “I won’t have to put up with him for long.”

  “And Merrill. Of all people, why Richard Merrill?”

  Kim tensed; she had been wondering that herself. Mairelon didn’t seem the kind of person that would attract someone as relentlessly social as Letitia Tarnower.

  “He’s wealthy, he’s well-connected, and he’s the sort that will be so preoccupied with his little magical projects that he won’t notice or care what his wife does,” Letitia answered promptly. “I’d thought of that Russian Prince Durmontov for a while, but he’s a bit too wide awake to suit me, and he’s the sort everyone watches. Merrill isn’t so prominent that the old cats will scrutinize every step his wife takes. That ward of his will have a harder time than she thinks once she’s married to Lord Franton.”

  “Is that settled?” Lord Starnes said, momentarily distracted. “Because I haven’t seen him here tonight, and I’ve got a bet in the book at White’s. . . .”

  “No, it’s not settled and he isn’t here, but anyone can see which way the wind is blowing,” Letitia said. “And everyone can also see you making a cake of yourself every time I’m at a party. I wish you wouldn’t.”

  “But Letitia, I love you!” Lord Starnes said desperately.

  “Yes, you’ve said so often enough,” Letitia said. “About once a month for the past three years, ever since I turned fifteen. And you’re quite personable, and very amusing when you aren’t pouring your heart out at my feet, and I do like you. But one can’t live on love and wit, my dear. Find yourself an heiress, and let me be.”

  “You are entirely heartless.”

  “No, merely practical. And if you cannot behave yourself in company, I do not wish to see you again. Do I make myself clear, Lord Starnes?”

  “Abundantly.”

  “Then I give you good evening.” There was a rustle of skirts and Kim shrank back into the curtains as the balcony door opened. To her relief, Letitia Tarnower swept out into the ballroom without glancing around. Kim gave her a moment to get clear, then slipped around the far edge of the silk screen. She’d heard all there was to hear, and Lord Starnes would be leaving the balcony, too, in another minute.

  Kim’s mind was in considerable turmoil. Mairelon had been quite right; Letitia Tarnower was not the widgeon she pretended to be. Indeed, if she had settled on anyone other than Mairelon as a prospective husband, Kim would have been more than a little sympathetic to her position. If it was anyone but Mairelon. . . . And was everyone expecting the marquis to make an offer of marriage for Kim?

  The rest of the evening seemed to drag on forever. Kim was even more distracted and preoccupied than before, until she noticed Lady Souftmore and Mrs. Lowe exchanging significant looks. After that, she exerted herself to pay attention, but though the gentlemen redoubled their efforts to be charming, she was considerably relieved when the time came to leave at last.

  When they arrived back at Grosvenor Square, Kim lingered in the hall for a moment to charge the footman not to let Mairelon out of the house next morning until he had spoken with her. She still wasn’t sure what she was going to tell him, or what good it might do if she did. At least maybe it’ll distract him some.

  As she reached the top of the first flight of stairs, she saw a gleam of light coming from the half-open library door. Curious, she stepped forward and peered around the door.

  The fire had died to embers; the light she had seen came from a single candle, burned down to barely an inch above the socket, which stood near the far end of the library table. Next to the candle stood a cut-glass brandy decanter, over half empty. Slumped in the chair at the end of the table, cradling a glass in both hands, was Mairelon. His dark hair looked as if he had run his hands through it several times, and there were shadows like bruises under his eyes. He looks as if he hasn’t slept in a week, Kim thought, and unconsciously took another step forward.

  The moveme
nt attracted Mairelon’s attention, and he looked up. He frowned for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts from somewhere very far away, and then said, “Ah, Kim! Come in and toast your good fortune.” His voice had an unfamiliar, almost mocking edge to it.

  “My good fortune?” Kim stepped into the room and studied Mairelon for a moment. “You’re foxed,” she said in mild surprise. She’d never seen Mairelon even a bit on the go before, not for real, though she’d seen him play the part once or twice.

  “I’m not foxed yet,” Mairelon said. “The decanter isn’t empty. There’s another glass somewhere; sit down and join me.”

  Uncertainly, Kim pulled up another chair and sat down on his right. Mairelon blinked owlishly at her. “Don’t look so glum,” he said, the mocking edge strong in his voice. “You should be celebrating. Though I’ll grant you, the prospect of congratulating Aunt Agatha on her perspicacity might take some of the satisfaction out of it.”

  “You are foxed,” Kim said. “What are you on about?”

  Mairelon raised his eyebrows. “Dear me, don’t you know?”

  “No, I don’t.” Kim clenched both hands in her lap to hold in her temper.

  Mairelon’s eyes narrowed and he studied her for a moment; then he sat back, his mouth twisted in a self-mocking smile. “Ah. Obviously I was mistaken.”

  “Mairelon,” Kim said, exasperated. “You’re just as annoying foxed as you are sober. Mistaken about what? What are you talking about?”

  “Lord Franton, Marquis of Harsfeld, visited me earlier today,” Mairelon said. “He asked my permission to pay his addresses to you.”

  “He—You mean that Tarnower chit was right? He’s going to make me an offer?”

  “I believe that is what I just said.” Mairelon sank down in his chair, studying his brandy glass. “He seemed to have no doubt about your answer.”