Kat, Incorrigible (10 page)

Beyond her, two figures stepped into the open doorway of the manor house. One of them was a tall, brown-haired woman I’d never seen before in my life.

The other was Mr. Gregson.

Mr. Gregson’s gaze met mine. I shoved myself
back against the carriage panels. If it hadn’t been too late to hide, I would have thrown myself underneath the piles of bandboxes at my feet.

Then I caught myself.

Mr. Gregson and Lady Fotherington had insulted my mother and my parents’ marriage. They had tried to attack me with magic—to make me do whatever they told me, like a magical slave. But I had escaped, despite their best efforts, and I was almost certain I’d broken Lady Fotherington’s nose.

They were the ones who should be afraid of me.

I lifted my chin and glared straight at Mr. Gregson as I took the footman’s hand and stepped out of the carriage as daintily as any duchess.

Mr. Gregson’s lips curved into a smile.

“My dearest Margaret,” Lady Graves cried. She swept across the drive to take Stepmama’s hands. “It’s been a positive age since I saw you last. How wonderful you look! Quite as young as ever. Sir John and I are so very pleased you could join our little house party.”

She and Stepmama exchanged cooing cheek-kisses, and then she drew back to include the rest of us in her smile. It was meant to appear gracious, I supposed. I couldn’t focus on it, though, not with Mr. Gregson hovering in the background and smiling so much more ominously.

“And these must be your charming stepdaughters,” said Lady Graves. “What lovely young ladies they all are.”

“Mm,” Stepmama said, and coughed into her glove. “Ah, yes. Indeed they are. Rosemary, may I present my husband’s daughters to you? Miss Stephenson”—she nodded to Elissa, who smiled wanly—“Miss Angeline, and …” She gave me an admonitory glare. “Miss Katherine.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mr. Gregson’s lips tighten as if he were holding back a laugh. Stepmama looked as if she’d just bitten into a sour apple. But she needn’t have worried this time. I curtsied as politely as the others and smiled up at Lady Graves as sweetly as if I were the most angelic young lady in existence.

Stepmama’s eyes narrowed. “Of course, Katherine is too young to participate in the house party, but I hadn’t the heart to leave her behind.”
Hadn’t trusted Papa to keep me in order
, she meant. But I didn’t correct her as she continued,
“Perhaps she can stay in the nursery quarter with your own children, Rosemary, and—”

“Oh, no, my girls are in Scotland with my sister for the month, and the boys are off on a shooting party with their friends from Eton. You know how boys are. No, of course Miss Katherine mustn’t be locked away while everyone else enjoys themselves. I’m sure she’ll be no trouble, will you, child?”

“No, ma’am,” I said in my meekest voice.

She smiled and touched my hair lightly. “What a very daring haircut you’ve been given. Rather like one of the ladies I met in London this past season, Lady Ca—but no, perhaps I’d better save that particular story for your stepmama and older ears than yours.” She withdrew her hand, sliding a mischievous glance at Stepmama. “I must say, though, that style does suit you, for all its radicalism. Perhaps you’ll be a Society fashion-setter one day too. You may practice tonight in my drawing room.”

“Kat will do very well on her own,” Stepmama said. “She—”

“Nonsense.” Lady Graves stepped back, her smile quite as steely as any of Stepmama’s own. “It is very good of you to try to look after me, Margaret, but I have made my decision, and I really will not be dissuaded. I’m certain Miss Katherine will make a charming addition to our party. It is always helpful for young girls to have some experience in the public eye before they are thrown willy-nilly into their London debut, you know. Now.” She gestured toward the
house. “Won’t you all come in and refresh yourselves? Your rooms are prepared and waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Rosemary,” Stepmama murmured, in a tone of pure vinegar. “You are too kind.”

It was the first time I’d ever seen Stepmama overruled by anybody. I would have enjoyed it more if I hadn’t been so preoccupied with hiding my reticule from Mr. Gregson’s keen gaze.

He bowed politely as we started toward the door, and coughed. This time it was a polite, harmless cough, the kind you might cough if someone had stepped on your toe by accident and you wanted to alert them without seeming rude. It stopped Stepmama in her tracks, and she looked to Lady Graves with a questioning arch of her eyebrows.

“Ah, yes. I’d nearly forgotten to make the introductions,” said Lady Graves. “Margaret, this is my husband’s cousin Mr. Aloysius Gregson, come all the way from London to consult Sir John’s family library. Mr. Gregson is a highly regarded scholar, you know, as well as being quite the favorite among London’s hostesses.”

Mr. Gregson bowed, smiling, as I blinked at the idea.

“If you are a scholar, Mr. Gregson, I am sure you and my husband would have much to discuss,” Stepmama said graciously. “Mr. Stephenson has quite the library of his own at our dear vicarage. Perhaps you may come and visit us one day.”

“What a delightful idea,” Mr. Gregson said. “I should be
happy to take up your charming invitation. Perhaps after Lady Graves’s house party?”

I nearly gagged with horror. It hardly even helped to see Stepmama’s gracious smile slip—clearly, she hadn’t meant the invitation to be taken seriously. Have a fashionable London gentleman to stay in our rickety old house? Sleeping in Papa’s study, perhaps, since Charles and Mr. Carlyle were already sharing a bedroom? It must have been almost as frightening a thought for her as it was for me, for entirely different reasons.

Still, she rallied, regaining her smile and saying, “We must consult our calendars, certainly. But for the moment …”

“Of course,” said Mr. Gregson. “You will wish to refresh yourselves. Ladies.” He bowed again. When he straightened, his pale blue eyes were fixed straight on me. “I shall look forward to speaking to you later.”

Thank goodness, the manor house at Grantham Abbey was so huge that Elissa, Angeline, and I had all been given separate bedrooms, an unheard-of luxury. Before I could finally be alone, though, Stepmama had to read me Volume Three Hundred of her never-ending lecture on propriety and the behavior expected of young girls at respectable gatherings. The moment she finally swept off to her own room, I slammed the door behind her and threw the reticule onto my bed. I was surprised not to see the striped green and yellow bedcovers smoke and char at the contact.

I collapsed onto the bed next to the reticule and stared down at it. “Well, what is it, then? What’s set you off this time? Was it Mr. Gregson, or … ?”

The reticule didn’t answer me. I undid the beaded fastening and upended it over the bed. The golden mirror dropped out, small and—almost—harmless-looking, except for the warm glow that emanated from it.

I peered at it but didn’t lift a finger to touch it; this time I knew better. It was the worst possible moment to be sucked back into the mirror world, just when Mr. Gregson was hovering nearby, waiting to capture me again.

Or … was it the worst possible time? After all, as a houseguest already in residence at Grantham Abbey, Mr. Gregson was probably in the company of all the other gentlemen of the house party right now, doing … well, whatever gentlemen did when they were alone together. All I could imagine was gambling, drinking, and boxing, but that was only because Charles was the only gentleman I knew apart from Papa, who didn’t count. I was certain other gentlemen must have more varied forms of entertainment than Charles had, and certainly more than poor Papa, who would sit wrapped up in a book all day long if he was allowed.

The point was, Mr. Gregson was fully occupied, and as it was the middle of the afternoon, fashionable Lady Fotherington would probably be busy driving around one of London’s parks or paying calls on her circle of terrorized friends.

Maybe now wasn’t the worst possible time for an exploration, after all. Maybe it was the best. I wasn’t expected anywhere until dinnertime, and Stepmama had absolutely ordered me not to step outside my room. The mirror was in the center of my room, wasn’t it? So it wasn’t even off-limits.

I reached for the mirror’s clasp—

And the door to my room swung open.

I threw myself across the bed. Mama’s mirror burned into my stomach as I stared at the open doorway, where Angeline stood staring back at me.

“What on earth are you doing?” she said.

“Nothing,” I said. “Just resting. I was tired.”

“Of course you were.” She closed the door and advanced toward me. “That would explain why you leaped like a cat when I walked in on you. And why you’re still wearing your shoes.” She crossed her arms and smiled down at me. “Come off it, Kat. What are you really trying to hide?”

“Nothing,” I said. I felt monumentally foolish, lying on my belly like a beached fish as I stared up at her, but I couldn’t move or else she’d see the glowing mirror. So I tried to sound casual and perfectly at my ease as I spoke. “What are you doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be assembling the perfect outfit for this evening? Or practicing your spells while Elissa can’t see you?”

“Very good, Kat. But you can’t distract me, and you know that perfectly well.” Angeline sat down on the corner of the bed and fixed me with a glittering gaze. “So why
don’t you give up now and tell me exactly what you were up to in the carriage that made your hand feel so hot?”

“It was stuffy in there,” I said. “Of course I was hot.”

“Mm,” Angeline said. “Perhaps that was it, after all. Or perhaps …”

She struck so quickly I couldn’t prepare for it, slamming herself with all her weight against my shoulder.

“Get off!” I struggled and scratched and pulled her hair, but she was stronger and heavier than I was. She pushed me all the way off my stomach and onto my back.

“… More likely,” Angeline finished, panting, “it was this!”

She snatched up the empty reticule.

My breath came in harsh gasps. My shoulder felt bruised. But the mirror was safe, trapped inside the folds of my gown. I pushed myself up carefully, making sure to cover the mirror with protective muslin all the way.

Angeline turned the reticule upside down over her hand and shook it, hard. Nothing came out. She frowned down at her empty palm. Then she turned her narrowed gaze on me.

“Don’t look to me for answers,” I said. “You’re the one coming up with wild ideas this time. Maybe it’s because you already miss Mr. Carlyle so much. Maybe the agony of loss is making your mind disordered … if it wasn’t already, that is.”

“Very amusing.” Angeline set the reticule back down on my green and yellow bedcovers. “So. You’ve already
hidden it.” Her gaze crossed the small bedroom consideringly. “It certainly doesn’t smell like magic in here.”

I blinked at her. “Smell? What does magic smell like?” I had a sudden image of Angeline sniffing the air like a hunting spaniel, and I had to stifle a snort of laughter. Luckily, she didn’t notice.

“Flowery,” she said. “Like lilacs.” She gestured vaguely with her hands, still not looking at me. “There’s a residue left in the air every time I cast a spell, and I don’t smell it here right now. But still … that leaves us with one question.” She turned back and narrowed her eyes at me. “What exactly are you up to?”

“Nothing,” I said, and narrowed my eyes right back at her. “Why exactly are you so suspicious?”