Bewitching Season (6 page)

crooked letters.

Another grimoire! Miss Allardyce had quite a number of them stored in her trunk at the Atherstons’.

Sometimes in the evening she would open it and listen to the old spell books rustle and whisper to

one another as she carefully wiped their bindings and read a page or two of the queer cramped

writing their owners had written in them. This one looked older than most of the others she had,

though. She smiled up at her father. “It’s lovely!”

“Excuse me,” said the man at the counter, who still stared after Lorrie. “I had thought to purchase

that book.”

Mr. Allardyce bowed again. “My apologies, sir, but it isn’t for sale. It should not have been on the

counter, but my daughter is young and thoughtless. It was intended for someone.”

“But …”

“I had meant it as a gift for my elder daughter here, who is a teacher and scholar of no little

erudition. You will, I am sure, understand,” her father continued with an apologetic smile.

The book quivered in her hand. Even with gloved fingers Miss Allardyce could feel the magic

inside it. Had this man felt it too? She looked at him again and saw his eyes were now fixed on her.

Though pleasant of appearance, clean-shaven, and well if somberly dressed with a very plain, very

white cravat, there was something disquieting about him. With a faint thrill of surprise she realized

what it was. His eyes, wide-set and clear, were of different colors: the right one blue, the left brown.

“Is she?” he said softly in his lilting accent.

His gaze never wavered as she stared back at him, and she knew, with complete certainty, that this

stranger also had felt the power that resided in the little book because … because …

The man was a wizard.

“I’ll just go help Lorrie with the tea,” she said, rising and hurrying down the short passage to her

father’s office, the book clutched in her hand.

Lorrie was muttering to herself as she set out cups and the plate of Mother’s dark spicy cake on the

crowded table. Miss Allardyce ignored her and sank into the chair at Father’s desk, distressed by her

surprise and confusion. They were not emotions she was accustomed to feeling.

How had she not known at once when she walked into the shop that the handsome stranger at the

counter was a wizard? Power had fairly radiated from him when she met his eyes just now. Had he

kept it cloaked until his surprise made him reveal it? For, just as strongly, she had felt his surprise as

he looked at her. He, too, knew what she was.

Miss Allardyce shivered. Who was he? Mother was the acknowledged historian in the family,

keeping track of the families in England known to possess magic ability. She might know something of

him, if only there were some way to find out his name … .

Just then the shop’s bell tinkled, and Mr. Allardyce came into the office a moment later. “There.

We can hope no one else will come in while we have our tea.” He removed a pile of books from a

chair, pulled off his gloves, and sat down with a grunt of relief.

“Do you know him?” Miss Allardyce asked before he had even finished seating himself.

“Who, the man who just left? Never seen him in here before. Irish, sounded like. We don’t get

many Irishmen coming in for books.” Mr. Allardyce took the cup Lorrie handed him and poured some

tea into his saucer to cool it.

Then Mother would probably not have any idea of who he was; her knowledge of magically gifted

families did not extend past England’s shores. “He was a wizard, Father,” she said aloud.

“Was he? Hmmph. Lorrie, you cannot leave magic books out on the counter for anyone to pick up.

You know that.”

Lorrie’s lower lip quivered, but she only said, “I’m sorry, sir,” and dropped an extra spoonful of

sugar into her cup.

Miss Allardyce drank her tea, but she could not eat any of Mother’s cake despite it being a favorite

of hers. The stranger’s eyes had unsettled her. He had looked at her with an interest that had gone first

from friendly admiration to speculative intensity, and then—

“It’s getting late. I should leave now,” she said, and rose abruptly.

Lorrie looked up at her in surprise. “But you’ve not even touched your cake.”

“I know. Wrap it for me and I’ll have it tonight. I’ll come back in a few days when Mother and

Merlin are home, and bring Miss Persephone and Miss Penelope with me next week. They can tell

you about their presentation dresses. If I hurry I can catch the omnibus and save walking.”

“Are you well, Melusine?” said her father, looking at her with knitted brows.

“Quite well, only running later than I ought. Thank you for the book, Father. I’ll come again on

Thursday. Will that do?” She kissed them both, retied her bonnet, and hurried back into the shop.

Lorrie came after and helped fasten her cloak. “I’m glad you’re back in London,” she said, with a

frown at the frog fastenings. “It’s so dull without you.”

“Silly child, I’ve been gone for years.” Miss Allardyce tempered her words with a quick hug.

“I know. But I think I miss you more now that I’m twenty than I did when I was small. I love

Mother and Father, and even Merlin when he’s not being a prat—”

“Lorrie!”

“—but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life dusting books and arranging the windows. I want to

…”

“What?”

“I don’t know!” Lorrie half sobbed.

Miss Allardyce took a deep breath and stifled her impatience. “You know that I’ll be leaving the

Lelands’ employ soon. I already told Father that when I look for a new position, I’d look for

something for you as well.”

“Like what?” Lorrie’s face brightened.

“I don’t know yet. Be patient. ‘We’ll talk when I come back.” She hugged her again.

“Bring that cloak with you when you come,” Lorrie called after her as she reached the door.

“Those frogs went out of fashion ages ago. I’ll rip ‘em off and put something a little less medieval on

for you.”

Miss Allardyce laughed and shook her head, then slipped out the door.

Oxford Street was busier than ever. Tradesmen’s wagons, drawn by tired horses, clomped by in

the late-afternoon light. Anxious women in sober cloaks and bonnets hurried past with full baskets on

their arms, occupied with thoughts of supper. Even a few elegantly dressed women, with servants in

tow, ambled by. Street vendors still cried their wares but their voices were hoarse and halfhearted at

this hour, their vegetables and flowers wilted.

Miss Allardyce stepped to the outside edge of the passing crowds on the pavement, where fewer

dared walk for fear of stepping in something smelly and unpleasant. It was more hazardous, but also

faster. Right now all Miss Allardyce wanted was the peace of her small room to mull over the

afternoon and the unsettling man in the shop. Why had she been so troubled by him? Why had he

looked at her so strangely?

A large horse-drawn omnibus rumbled past. Surely there must be one that she might catch to save

her this perilous walk. She had confidently thrown the comment out to keep Lorrie from fussing at her

departure, but it had been years since she had lived in London. She paused to take her bearings and

realized that she had been walking in the wrong direction. Flustered, she looked around.

Just then a closed carriage, painted a shining dark green, drew up beside her. She looked up in

surprise as the door opened.

“May I offer you a ride?” said a polite voice.

Miss Allardyce started. There was a soft lilt in those words that she knew. She stared dumbly as a

face appeared in the doorway, a face from which two eyes, one blue and one brown, surveyed her.

“No,” she whispered. An impulse to run seized her, but she wasn’t sure that her legs could obey it.

“But I insist, Miss Allardyce.”

She had not seen a carriage like this outside the bookshop when the strange man was there. Was

this elegant equipage really his? Then she became aware that two footmen in discreet livery had

jumped down from their perches at the back of the carriage and now stood close behind her. Sudden

indignation helped her regain her customary aplomb.

“As I have no idea of your purpose or destination or even your name, I should prefer to walk, if

you please,” she said, stepping back just enough to tread hard on the toe of one of the tall footmen.

She heard him curse under his breath and took advantage of his momentary inattention to try to dodge

out of his way.

The other footman lunged and blocked her. She glared up at him and said loudly, “What is the

meaning of this? Stand aside or I shall scream.”

The odd-eyed man sighed. “Edmund, James, if you please.”

Miss Allardyce froze as she felt something hard shoved against her side. She glanced down and

saw that it was the barrel of a pistol, held by the footman whose toes she’d trod upon.

“Into the kerridge, please, miss,” said the other, taking her arm. “And please, no shoutin’. We don’t

likes shoutin’, we don’t.” He nodded to his colleague with the gun, who grinned and gave her a shove.

She stumbled into the carriage and felt him climb in after her.

The interior of the carriage was as elegant as its exterior, with polished wood fittings and green

leather seats, well padded. The man from the shop had politely moved to give her the forward-facing

seat.

“You must forgive our, er, insistence. But it is quite vital that you accompany me back to my master

at once,” he apologized. The footman settled next to him, pistol still pointing at Miss Allardyce as she

shrank into the corner of the seat.

“Where are you taking me? I demand an explanation!” she replied. Thank heavens her voice didn’t

shake too much.

“Do not fear, Miss Allardyce. You will be well looked after. All I am at liberty to communicate to

you is that your unusual talents are required right now for an urgent matter at the highest levels in the

kingdom,” the man said, seeming to choose his words with care.

“My talents? I have no idea what you are speaking of,” she prevaricated. A knot began to tie itself

somewhere in her midsection, and her hands felt icy inside their neat gloves.

“On the contrary, I think you do. It’s not difficult for one who shares it to see that you possess a

great deal of talent indeed.” The odd-eyed man waved a hand in the air and murmured a word. A

fresh sprig of lavender appeared from nowhere in his long fingers. He held it out to her with an

almost contrite air.

A whiff of its sharp fresh scent reached her as she stared at it, her mind awhirl. The footman beside

him eyed it nervously and moved a cautious inch or so away from him on the seat.

“You see, Miss Allardyce? I am a visitor to London, as you might have guessed. When I have a

spare moment I enjoy visiting the booksellers’ shops. There was an aura about your family’s that

drew me immediately—an odor of magic, if you will. I thought perhaps it was from the books until I

overheard you and your sister. Her trifle of a spell startled me. She has talent, but it does not have the

discipline or depth of your own. I can tell that just by being near you.” He smiled down at the flower

in his hand.

“You still haven’t told me the meaning of this—this—outrage,” she stammered.

“No, I realize I haven’t. Nor am I permitted to. That is for my master to do.” His lip curled slightly,

whether in amusement or distaste she could not read. “I don’t approve of his methods, and I hope you

will forgive me and understand I don’t do this of my own free will. I should much rather have made

your acquaintance in happier circumstances, for I’ve never encountered such powerful or elegant

magic in anyone outside of my homeland. But I have my orders, and am constrained to follow them. I

am as much a captive as you.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she retorted, looking at the footman with the pistol.

“Do you? Do I look like a rascal who enjoys snatching innocent women off the street? Given my

choice, I would be home in Cork tutoring and studying magic myself. But a family debt has forced me

here to this great dirty city and this equally dirty task.” His wide mouth twisted into a bitter line.

“Believe me, Miss Allardyce. My dislike of this situation is as great as yours. Greater, in fact. You

are an innocent victim. I am villain and victim both.”

“My employer, Lord Atherston, will have something to say about this, I assure you!” she protested.

To her horror, the tears she had been blinking back began to leak out, one at a time, as she sat stiff and

upright in her seat. But when she reached for her reticule to extract a handkerchief, the footman raised

his pistol.

“Really, Edmund. She’s not about to turn you into a newt, though I wouldn’t blame her if she did.”

The wizard shook his head in disgust and handed her a square of snow-white linen. Then he produced

a notebook from his pocket and made a quick notation in it. “Lord Atherston, you said? Hmm.”

Raising his voice, he called, “Quickly!” and rapped on the wall above his head.

Miss Allardyce felt the carriage lurch as it plunged into the flow of traffic heading west down the