Bewitching Season (23 page)

Seton those other books that came in on Tuesday? You can reach them more easily than I. Top shelf,

near the front window.” She bustled the girls and Charles back toward the office. Lorrie drifted after

them, still pretending to dust.

“Lorrie! Where do you think you’re going? I thought I’d told you to polish the lamps?” Merlin

Allardyce called after her. To Persy’s amusement, Lorrie pretended not to hear him and followed

them back to the office.

Mr. Allardyce was already there, setting out chairs. He did not waste any time on niceties. “Any

news?”

Pen spoke. “We’ve been to Kensington Palace twice but haven’t been able to look around at all.”

She explained about meeting Princess Sophia at their presentation and being invited to visit her. “It’s

so frustrating to be there and not be able to do anything. I’ve wondered if we should not confide in the

princess and ask if she would search for us.”

Persy bit her lip. She had been having the same thought but hadn’t voiced it because she and Pen

were barely on speaking terms.

Mr. Allardyce rubbed his chin and frowned. “Do you trust her?”

“Why shouldn’t we?” Pen looked puzzled. “She’s a harmless old dear.”

“Well, you know the lady. Maybe you could ask her for a tour of the palace, if she invites you

again?” he suggested, brightening.

“Why don’t you bring me along next time?” Charles piped up. “I could sneak into the palace while

you’re taking tea and search it.”

Pen rolled her eyes. “You’d be lost in three minutes, and we’d never find you again. Besides, there

are maids and footmen everywhere and probably guards, too. Princess Victoria lives there,

remember? Now stop interrupting. We had to bring Chuckl—I mean Charles—today, or he would

have burst,” she explained to the Allardyces. “Now that his arm is healing, he can’t sit still. I’m

looking forward to you getting shipped back to Eton in June, Charley-horse.”

“Well, it was only a suggestion,” Charles snapped. “You don’t have to—to …” He glowered at

Pen and turned his chair away from her.

“We’re sorry we’re so bad-tempered,” Persy apologized. “Between not being able to help Ally

and trying to get through all the social commitments we have without a maid or anyone to help, we’re

rather in a way. Poor Mama—”

Lorrie Allardyce made a strange, strangled sound. They all turned to look at her.

“It’s nothing. I had a sneeze that got stuck,” she said with a dignified sniff. Her eyes, however,

were bright and thoughtful.

Mr. Allardyce gave her a quelling look. “Whatever you decide to do at Kensington, please be

careful. Anyone who would kidnap an innocent young woman—”

“Whoever kidnapped my sister won’t be likely to stop there,” Lorrie interjected. “You two ought to

be more on your guard. Honestly, don’t you think I ought to go along with them to Mayfair to keep an

eye on them? You could—”

“Really, Lorrie!” Mr. Allardyce said sternly. “That is an inappropriate, not to mention silly

suggestion.”

“Fine,” Charles said. “So maybe Persy and Pen ask Princess Sophia for help in looking around at

Kensington Palace. Is that all? Isn’t there
something
else we can do to help Ally? Can’t Papa ask the

king to help?”

Mr. Allardyce smiled. “I wish he could, Master Charles, but I don’t think it will get us very far.

No, all we can do for now is ask the princess’s help, if your sisters deem it safe to do so.”

Merlin was just wrapping up a book for Lochinvar when they filed solemnly from the back room of

the bookshop. He glowered at Lorrie and jerked his head toward a basketful of sooty lamp chimneys

waiting on the counter. Mama arrived a few minutes later, and after a small glass of Mrs. Allardyce’s

pomegranate cordial, they left.

“What book did you buy?” Charles asked Lochinvar, after they had rumbled along for several

minutes in silence. “Something about horses?”

“No, nothing so exciting,” Lochinvar replied, with a hint of a smile for Charles’s eagerness. “Just

another copy of the Mayo book on Pestalozzian schools. I sent my copy on to Mr. Chandler back at

home, and wanted another. I’d hoped your sister might find it interesting.”

Mama regarded him with an appraising look. “That was most kind of you, dear boy.”

Persy looked quickly down at her gloved hands.

“Perse!” hissed Charles.

“Hmm?” She looked up and saw him jerk his head toward Lochinvar, who held something out to

her.

The book.

“F-for me?” she stuttered.

“I—I rather hoped you would … if you’re not too busy.” Stuttering seemed to be contagious.

Persy stared at the book in his outstretched hand. There was nothing she would love better than to

take the book and devour it, then spend hours discussing it with him so she could watch the way he

leaned forward, his eyes wide open with enthusiasm, or the absentminded way he ruffled his hair

when contemplating a question. If only Lochinvar were giving it to her because he
really
wanted to

… oh, why had she been so stupid and put that spell on him?

“No, I … no, thank you, Lord Seton. Surely you might, er … find someone with more knowledge

and interest—”

“Persephone!” Mama sounded outraged. She didn’t say anything more but it wasn’t necessary.

Persy gulped and, feeling as if her hand belonged to somebody else, reached out and took the small

book from him. Their fingertips just grazed each other, and she was sure that the book would burst

into flames under her hand, so incendiary was the fleeting contact even through her gloves. She stole a

glance at Lochinvar. A faint flush had crept up his cheeks, making his eyes appear very bright. They

were fixed on her.

That week Persy survived, in addition to the usual round of social calls and appointments with

Madame Gendreau, five balls, four dinners with either cards or music afterward, three parties, two

breakfasts, and the abrupt departure of another new lady’s maid.

This time, frightening her off was intentional. In a way, Persy was grateful that Potts was so awful,

for it gave her and Pen a moment of camaraderie and common purpose as they had not shared for

weeks.

“Persephone, Penelope, this is Potts. She comes most highly recommended, and I am sure she’ll

suit you just fine,” said Mama as they entered the morning room. Her voice was warm, but there was

a dubious set to her mouth.

It wasn’t hard to see why. In contrast to the last maid, Potts was closer to their own age, in her

early twenties, and pretty in a sharp-featured way. She examined each of them as Mama continued to

wax effusive. Persy could almost see the figures tallying in her prominent eyes as she assessed every

detail of their dresses in pounds and shillings.

When at last Mama sent them upstairs to show Potts their room, the new maid picked up where

their mother had left off. “I am sure I shall like it here. Milady Atherston is extremely kind, isn’t she?

Of course, she is your mother so you’d have to say so. But she is quite well dressed, and you two

aren’t too bad, either. Though I must say, Miss Penelope, that shade of blue doesn’t suit you as well

as it might. It would look better on someone with my coloring, don’t you think? I’ve always been

quite fond of it as it looks so well on me. You must show me your gowns so I can start seeing what

needs work. So you have a ball tonight, do you? Are there any beaus you’re trying to charm who will

be there? I’ve got some ideas for hair that I’m sure will just become the latest thing.” She winked.

Persy looked away with a sinking feeling in her stomach and caught Pen’s eye. There was a wicked

sort of gleam in it that she thought she recognized.

“My, so this is your room? Well, I must say I’m a little surprised it’s not bigger. Still, I don’t

suppose you’re here much, what with your social commitments.” Potts spoke with strange, rounded,

drawn-out vowels, and Persy realized she was trying to imitate what she thought was an aristocratic

accent.

The maid marched over to one of their clothes presses and threw open the doors. “Mmm-hmm …

not bad … ooh, I rather fancy that one …,” she mumbled as she riffled through piles of neatly folded

dresses.

“Perse!” Pen hissed in her ear. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Probably. But what can we do? We need a maid. Mama can’t spare Andrews anymore,” Persy

whispered under cover of Potts’s happy monologue. “She’s been run off her feet these last evenings.”

“The entire household will be even more unhappy if we let this one stay long enough to properly

set her hooks in us. We’ll be doing everyone a favor if we get rid of her now,” Pen returned fiercely.

“What do you say?”

Persy looked over at Potts, who had pulled down one of their new evening dresses, of pale green

striped silk, and was holding it against herself with a dreamy expression. “Why, that’s my favorite

one!” Persy protested feebly.

“You watch. In a moment it’ll be, ‘Miss Persephone, green really isn’t your color, you know,”’

muttered Pen. “Come on, Persy!”

“It’s a lovely dress, but green can be so hard on some complexions,” Potts said, holding the dress

out at arm’s length and peering over it.

Persy would have liked to laugh, but this was more than she could handle. She drew herself up and

muttered a string of words.

A sleeve unfolded itself from out of the press and fluttered at Potts, trying to tap her on her

shoulder.

“What?” Potts whirled around. Another dress snaked out its sleeve and snatched Persy’s green

dress out of the maid’s hands. Pen started to snicker.

“Wh—wha—” Potts didn’t seem to know whether to look at the clothes press full of shivering,

shifting dresses or at Pen, clutching her sides and nearly shouting with mirth. Her mouth opened and

closed as her head swung back and forth between the two, and Persy was reminded of a beached fish.

She narrowed her eyes and spoke a few words more.

Faint thuds issued from the bottom shelves of the press, and Potts squealed again as riding boots

and shoes walked their way out and began to kick her in the ankles and shins. The dresses that had

sleeves long enough reached out to pummel her, and a shawl tossed over the edge of the press door

flapped menacingly. Pen nearly howled as Potts gave them one last wild-eyed look and fled the room.

A few seconds later they heard the front door slam.

Pen dropped to their bed. “Oh, Perse, that was wonderful. Her face …” She dissolved into fresh

gales of laughter.

Persy grinned at her but felt a sudden twinge of guilt when she thought of Potts’s horrified face.

Mama would not be pleased. She was trying to find them a maid so that poor Andrews wouldn’t be

overworked helping the three of them. This was the second time she’d done magic without thinking it

through and regretted the results.

“Come on, Pen,” she said. “Help me put these shoes away and come up with an excuse for our

latest maid’s abrupt departure.”

Persy was so happy to have spent a few unstrained minutes with Pen that she forgot to be nervous

before the de Courcys’ ball that evening. Or maybe she was just getting more used to being out in

society, after all the events they had attended lately.

Lochinvar had claimed the first waltz with her, as he often did. He didn’t ask if she’d read the book

about schools yet and she did not mention it, though she had indeed already read it—twice, in fact.

The memory of the touch of his hand on hers still burned and tingled, which was silly … after all, they

had waltzed at several balls, and waltzing meant placing her hand in his. They were waltzing right

now, for heaven’s sake. But there had been something different about that touch in the carriage,

something far beyond the simple contact required in dancing. She still wasn’t sure what it was.

Maybe she’d just imagined it. All she could do was hope that he hadn’t felt it too.

When Lochinvar brought her back to her seat, Gerald Carharrick was waiting with Mama as usual,

to claim the first of his dances of the evening. Persy remembered Pen’s horrid comments about his

being her beau and bit her lip.

At least Lord Carharrick’s manners were excellent. He didn’t linger by their seats, discouraging

other young men from asking her to dance by his presence. But he always seemed to be nearby, so that

if a fan were dropped or a chair required shifting, he was at her side almost at once to render

assistance. And whenever she danced a cotillion he always seemed to be in place behind or in front

of her, so that he could smile and nod to her as they moved through the figures. Might it be possible

that she’d encouraged him a little too much?

Persy brooded over that thought for the next hour. She didn’t want anyone trying to engage her

already-engaged heart. When Lord Carharrick took her into the dining room for refreshments after the