Bewitching Season (29 page)

someday …” He smiled down at her.

Persy considered sneezing violently and saying she preferred fresh air and oaks, but couldn’t bring

herself to be so uncivil. So she bowed her head and let him lead her back to the dining room, where

he was so solicitous in bringing her the choicest sweetmeats and ices that Pen, with Lochinvar in tow,

stopped to ask if she had injured her foot once again.

“No, I didn’t,” Persy snapped. That line was starting to wear thin. “Thank you so much for asking,

though.”

“Just checking.” Pen nodded at Lochinvar beside her. “We enjoyed our tour of Mrs. Cheke-

Bentinck’s orangery. Quite fascinating. It’s amazing what you can learn in a greenhouse if you pay

attention. How about you? Did you enjoy it too? We tried to catch your attention, but you seemed too

absorbed in conversation to notice us.”

“Pen!” Persy almost moaned. She thought frantically back over what Lord Carharrick had said to

her amid the oranges and limes. Nothing blatant, at least that she could recall. It had been his tone and

eyes that had spoken loudest. Where had Pen and Lochinvar been? There were all sorts of twisty little

paths and nooks in the orangery for visitors to get lost in—Mrs. Cheke-Bentinck had a slightly

interesting reputation—and the two of them could have been anywhere. Persy felt like crying.

“I am not overly fond of oranges myself,” Lochinvar said, meeting her eyes. His face was careful

and somber. Persy saw him slip a hand into his coat pocket and grip something inside it.

“Nor is Persy, I thought,” Pen said, staring at her hard. “But tastes can change, can’t they?”

She stared defiantly back. “Yes, they can. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“So long as it’s a real change and not a stupid hoax. Ah, good evening, Lord Carharrick. Is that an

ice for my sister? How lovely” Pen curtsied as he approached them. He bowed in return and turned to

Persy.

“Thank you, but I think I’ve had enough ice for now. Won’t you all excuse me for a few minutes?”

Persy looked away from the delicate cup he offered her and pushed back her chair. She had to get

away. From behind her she could vaguely hear Pen call out, “Persy, wait!”

The hall outside the dining room was mercifully empty of footmen. Persy ran blindly down its

length and opened a door at random.

She found herself in a small, dark parlor, also blessedly empty. Crossing to the window, she

leaned against it and rested her forehead against the cool glass. Pen and Lochinvar had overheard

Lord Carharrick’s conversation with her. What was wrong with that? It only helped in her campaign

to chase Lochinvar off.

So why did she feel so wretched?

The doorknob rattled, and a sliver of light invaded the dark room. Persy turned and froze, hoping

whoever it was would go away, and muttered the cloaking spell. It was turning out to be a remarkably

useful—

“Perse, it’s no use. I know you’re there,” Pen said softly, closing the door behind her. “Skip the

spell.”

Persy turned back to the window. “I would like to be alone just now, if you please,” she said. To

her dismay, her voice came out thick with unshed tears.

“No. You’ve been doing this enough. Come on, we’re going to talk.”

“I have nothing to talk about.”

“Nothing at all? Nothing about Lord Carharrick wanting to call on Papa?”

Persy’s hands clenched into fists. “You shouldn’t have been listening. Do we have to talk about this

now?”

“Yes.” Pen had come to stand next to her in the window. “Persy, are you in love with him?” she

asked quietly.

It was on the tip of Persy’s tongue to say yes, but that would have been a bald-faced lie. She was

so tired of lying to Pen. “No,” she whispered.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I know he’s wealthy and good-looking and will inherit his family’s title, and I wish

to God he were in Greenland right now so I wouldn’t have to listen to his wooing anymore.” The

tears that had threatened before finally spilled over down her hot cheeks. “And I also wish you’d

leave me alone and never bring this up again.”

Pen exhaled and let go of her hand. “All right, Persy. I’m sorry, but I had to know.” She handed her

a handkerchief.

“Why?” Persy demanded and blew her nose.

“Because.”

After a moment of silence, Persy finally looked at her. “Pen, I’m sorry. This … unpleasantness

between us—it’s all my fault.”

It was Pen’s turn to avoid meeting her eyes. “Maybe not entirely. I’m sorry too. But I think it will

clear up soon.”

“Why do you think that?”

She felt rather than saw Pen’s shrug. “Maybe I’m becoming a seer. I’m going back to the ball now.

You stay here for a while and pull yourself together.” She squeezed Persy’s arm and turned away. A

second later, the door opened and closed once more.

Persy sagged against the window again. Would it be possible for them to call a truce now? Maybe

Pen would stop making those irksome comments about Lord Carharrick. Maybe the painful, difficult

silence that had risen between them would start to go away and they could be sisters again, and—

The door reopened.
Pen must be impatient,
Persy thought. “I’ll be out in a—”

The words froze in her mouth. Light from the hallway was making a halo of the gold hair of the

figure that stood in the doorway

It was Lochinvar.

He closed the door and moved swiftly toward her. “Persy,” he murmured.

“Lord Seton! I was just, um, leaving.” She edged away from him and toward the door, nearly

tripping over a footstool in her haste.

“Please wait.” He closed the distance between them and caught her arm as she stumbled.

“Wh-why?” She tugged, but he would not let go of her.

“Because I want to talk with you.”

“There’s nothing you can need to say to m—”

“Yes, there is.” He captured her other hand and drew her toward him, then kissed her softly, gently.

His lips tasted faintly of strawberries and champagne. He paused for just a heartbeat—she was sure

hers could be heard even out in the hall—and then kissed her again, a little less gently this time, and

pulled her hard against him.

Persy knew she should leap back indignantly, slay him with a well-chosen word or two, then run

shrieking from the room. But what she really wanted was to reach up and bury her fingers in his soft

gold hair and kiss him back as well as she could. Just fainting was another option, but unfortunately

she had never fainted in her life and was unsure how one went about it.

It’s not you he’s kissing, it’s the spell,
a small, cool voice in her head reminded her. That was

enough to jerk her back to reality. She squirmed out of his arms and backed away toward the door.

“I—I think it’s time for me to leave now.” Her voice sounded squeaky and unnatural, even in her

own ears. No wonder; she could hardly breathe. “There’s been some kind of mistake.”

Before he could say anything she slipped through the door and slammed it behind her, then ran for

Mrs. Cheke-Bentinck’s boudoir, where they had left their wraps on arrival. Mrs. Cheke-Bentinck’s

maid was there and kindly brought her a cup of tea and some eau de cologne when she confessed a

sudden headache.

Persy lay back on a silk-covered divan and closed her eyes. Lochinvar had kissed her—actually

kissed her as if he really meant it. She tried to put it out of her mind but the memory of his mouth on

hers, the lips smooth and firm and trembling ever so slightly … and his arms, straining to hold her

closer … it had been wonderful and glorious and it could never, never happen again.

So all her sham indifference and pretending to be in love with Lord Carharrick hadn’t succeeded in

putting him off. That must have been one very strong love spell. Odd that it hadn’t felt that way when

she’d cast it—there hadn’t been any of the usual tingling energy in her hands and shoulders and at the

base of her throat that spell-casting often created. True, she’d come down with a headache

immediately afterward, but she rather suspected that had been as much due to the Gilleys’ punch as it

was to intense concentration. But magic was funny sometimes.

So what should she do now?

It appeared that it was time to change her tactics, because subtlety obviously hadn’t worked. She

would have to lie through her teeth and tell Lochinvar, as kindly and as firmly as she could, that she

did not and never would love him. She could say the same to Lord Carharrick, though at least she

wouldn’t have to lie. Then she could get on with the rest of her life, which would be bleak and lonely

and miserable, but at least she would have done the right thing. The moral thing, even if it wasn’t

honest.

Somehow, the thought was not much comfort just now.

When it was finally time to go home, Mama scolded her. “Foolish child, why didn’t you tell one of

us you didn’t feel well, rather than lurking up with Mrs. Cheke-Bentinck’s maid all evening?”

Persy leaned back against the seat and shut her eyes. “I’m sorry, Mama. I didn’t want to ruin

anyone’s evening.”

Next to her Pen made a faint snorting noise. Persy peeked from the corner of her eye and saw that

Pen was regarding her with an air of exasperation.

It didn’t take more than fifteen seconds for that exasperation to come out after Andrews had helped

them out of their gowns and they were alone in their room. “Persy, what happened?” Pen demanded.

“And don’t tell me any stories about a headache.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. My head did ache.” Persy tried for injured ignorance as

she draped her petticoats over a chair to air. In truth it had been her heart that ached, but Pen needn’t

know that.

“What did Lochinvar say to you?”

Persy froze, glad her back was to Pen. How did she know about Lochinvar? She must have seen

him enter the room, so it would be no good trying to refute it. “Lochinvar? Oh, he didn’t say much of

anything to me.” He hadn’t really spoken much, so that wasn’t a lie.

“Persy, he was going in there to tell you he loves you. Didn’t he?”

“Umm, well, no, he didn’t.” Not with words, he hadn’t.

“Persephone Leland, are you being this dense on purpose?” There was a thud. Pen had stamped her

foot. “He told me he kissed you. What do you think that means?”

“He
told
you that?” Persy turned and goggled at her.

“He’s been trying to for the last few weeks, but you’ve been absolutely impossible. I thought it was

because you’d decided you liked Lord Carharrick, but then you told me that you don’t care for him.

Now would you mind telling me what is going on with you?”

“Pen, please … my head.” Falling back on her headache was completely cowardly, but Persy

didn’t much care.

“Oh, for God’s sake.” Pen spoke through gritted teeth. “There isn’t any talking to you, is there?”

“No, there isn’t. So just leave me alone right now, please.” Without bothering to stop and plait her

hair, Persy dove for their bed, curling into a ball as far on her side as it was possible to go and

wishing, for the first time in her life, that she and Pen had separate rooms.

15

A
t breakfast the next morning Kenney brought in a letter for Papa.

“It was found on the front steps this morning when the maid went out to sweep, milord,” he said,

making it clear that he found such unorthodox delivery of a personal note highly questionable.

Papa took the note from Kenney’s silver tray. “How curious. Thank you, Kenney.” He picked up

the butter spreader and started to slit the seal.

“A clean knife would leave it in more readable condition, dear,” said Mama. “Thank you, Persy,”

she added, as Persy passed her clean knife to her father.

After last night’s events, Persy had slept little and now had even less appetite for breakfast. She

sipped her chocolate and toyed with the rest of her unsoiled cutlery.

“Oh, dear,” said Papa, gazing at the note with a bewildered air.

“What is it, Papa?” Pen asked. She hadn’t eaten much either, Persy noted.

“It’s from Miss Allardyce. She is resigning from our employ, effective immediately.” Papa stared

at the piece of paper in his hand as if it were a new and possibly toxic species of mushroom.

“What?”
exclaimed all three women at the table.

“It’s not much of a note, really. Strange way to take leave of us, after all these years.” He cleared

his throat, took a sip of his tea, and read aloud:

Dear Lord Atherston,

It is with the greatest sorrow that I tender my resignation from your service, effective

immediately. My current situation does not permit me to make this announcement in

person, or to say a proper farewell to you and your family. I regret this deeply as well,

and can only extend my sincere hope for your family’s continued health and prosperity.

Your obedient servant,

M. Allardyce

There was a stunned silence after he had finished reading.

“Well!” Mama finally found enough breath to say. “Practically a member of the family for ten