I very much doubt I need to do so, but as your mother, I feel I must caution you about the use of your arcana while in London. Any use is a danger to you as it draws upon your own energy, but in the bosom of society, you have the added worry of unfriendly eyes discovering the truth.
Remember this, my darling. Be cautious of gentlemen and ladies alike.
With much love,
Mama
We fall into a hushed awe, our eyes scanning and rescanning her words as if she might at any moment appear before us.
“Well, that was ominous,” Robert says, frowning.
I squeeze Lucy’s hand as a tear spills onto her cheek. “It’s like she’s right here speaking to us, isn’t it?” I whisper, and she nods.
“I know caution is a foreign concept to you,” Robert says, “but I think for the first time, I must encourage you exercise it.”
“She said there’s no guarantee any of that will happen,” I say, and he gives me an exasperated look. “But of course I will be on my guard.”
Lucy leans forward and examines the journal entry. “Is that a rune?”
She points at a small mark near the bottom of the page. Shaped almost like a human eye is a rune with delicate swirls. It’s so faint, I never would have noticed if not for her.
“Where?” Robert asks, evidently having as much difficulty as I did in seeing it.
“Here,” I say. I press my finger to the rune. A little spark of energy, and then the train carriage fades away. In its place is crystal-clear water cascading over rock, filling a shimmering pool. A dark forest surrounds the water. I know this place. I see it every time I play my mother’s music. Something about it whispers to me, and a longing so strong wraps itself around my heart in a painful vise. Could this be a vision of Mama’s realm?
As if in answer, a creature that is like a deer, but not quite, takes a drink from the water. Its pelt is as white as the rocks with silver dappling. Leaves sprout from its antlers, and it’s as though it doesn’t have antlers at all, but tree branches instead. It’s joined by a creature that looks like a snow fox, but for the silver tips at the ends of its fur. It turns and appears to look right at me, its turquoise-colored eyes piercing me.
Katherine, it whispers in my mind.
With a jerk, I take my finger from the rune, and the lovely vision fades.
“Oh yes, I see it now,” Robert says, as though no time has passed at all. The vision, it would seem, only appeared in my own mind.
“Lucy,” I say, “do you recognize that rune?”
She tilts her head as she examines it again. “I do, actually. Mama had an entire book of runes, and I used to love looking at them. They’re just so beautiful. This one means ‘homeland.’”
So that was my mother’s realm. Excitement and that painful longing war with each other in the center of my chest. “When I touched the rune, it showed me a vision of Sylvania.”
Lucy’s face brightens with awe. “May I try?”
“Of course,” I say and hand her the journal. She touches her finger to the rune and closes her eyes.
After a moment, her face falls. “I don’t see anything.”
I touch the rune again, but this time, nothing happens. “I don’t understand. It worked just a moment ago.”
“Wren, you shouldn’t tease Lucy,” Robert says. I glare at him.
“No, I’m sure she was being truthful,” Lucy says, examining the rune. “I think it may be a bit like my own arcana. The rune has only a single charge of energy stored. After that, it’s only a drawing on paper.”
“Then I am sorry I used its only charge.”
“Don’t be,” Lucy says. “I believe it was meant for you.”
The water so clear I can almost taste it, the cool shade of the forest, the beautiful creatures, all of these images run through my mind until I’m gripped by the desperation to see more. Why would Mama show me something I can never see outside of my own dreams? I think of what Papa said: that Mama was more mysterious than the stars. Though this was true, she never did anything without purpose.
A hiss of steam and a small jolt signals we’ve arrived at Oxford, and Lucy and I disembark with Robert, reluctant to part.
John, Robert’s valet, walks toward us from one of the rear railway carriages. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes bright. “I shall have your luggage brought to the coach straight away,” he says, and I cannot help but return his wide smile.
With her hand on Robert’s arm, Lucy points to the skyline just beyond the station. “Is that the university?”
We can just make out the taller spires from our vantage point. The sand-colored stone and gothic architecture makes it seem more like a monastery or cathedral than a place of study, though I suppose there are some who do see it as a place of worship. It’s the type of place that inspires a hushed sort of awe, and I wish with a sudden intensity that I could go with Robert.
A twinge of jealousy causes me to blush. I shouldn’t be jealous of my brother, but I cannot help but compare the freedom of his life at university to mine. How I would love to trade dresses and ballrooms for books and the classroom. But even in this modern age of electricity, new ideas, and advances beyond our imagining, the expectations for ladies still remain firmly planted in the Middle Ages. As a gentleman, Robert’s potential is limitless. For now, all he need do is concentrate on his studies.
I glance over to find Robert watching me with a grin. I return his smile. “I could stand here and stare at this architecture for ages.”
“I am of the same opinion,” Lucy says, her artist’s eyes wide, as if taking in every detail.
“I’m glad someone finds the old place impressive,” Robert says. “The only thing it inspires in me is a sense of dread for the essays I must write.”
“For shame,” I admonish. “Think of all the things you can learn here, and in such stately beauty.”
“We could trade places if you’d like. I will suffer through the frivolous balls, and you can stay here amidst ancient professors and moldy tomes.”
“I would gladly do so. Anything to avoid the season.” I grimace, and he laughs.
“It won’t be as bad as all that,” he says and pulls me in for a firm embrace.
“Will you be coming to town in a week for my coming out?” I ask. “I cannot think how Lucy and I will endure it all without you.”
“I shall check with the headmaster, but I’m sure it would be no hardship.” He signals John to bring the carriage ’round before turning back to me. “Good luck, dear sister. I know you will do extraordinarily well.”
He embraces Lucy, and we return to the train, a short ride ahead of us.
By the time we arrive in London, I’ve gone so quiet I can no longer carry on a decent conversation with Lucy. She, on the other hand, is flushed and has been chattering nonstop from the moment we disembarked from the train and found the coach Grandmama sent to meet us.
“Oh, London is simply incredible,” Lucy exclaims. “Look at the number of carriages on the road; there’s scarce room for ours.”
I give a brief nod as I struggle not to beg the driver to take us home at once.
London is everything I expected and more. It’s large, overly crowded, full of a curious mix of animals, pedestrians, elegant carriages carrying fashionable people, bicycles, and even a few motorcars. The size of the buildings towering over our carriage as we drive by causes me to feel closed in, restrained. A desperate need builds in me for the open space of the country, and I fear it will be a very long time indeed before I will feel free again.
Lucy presses her face closer to the window. “Wren, just look at those exquisite dresses. And the hats,” she says in an almost childlike squeal. “I’ve never seen such beauty. Do you not agree?”
I glance at a pair of ladies talking outside a stylish little shop. Their stiffly tailored dresses are of vibrant hues, a lovely contrast to the dreariness of the city. Both wear wide-brimmed hats with enormous feather plumes, and they carry color-coor
dinating parasols. I look around at all the mess left by the animals, the refuse and dirt on the streets, and it almost seems as though they are overdressed.
“Beautiful indeed,” I say.
“We must be close; these seem to be a row of houses. Which one do you suppose is hers? I hope we haven’t missed tea, though I don’t know if I could eat anything at the moment.”
My mind scrambles for a response, but all I keep thinking is, Will Grandmama hate me?
The carriage rolls to a stop in front of a red brick terrace house with a black door. I stare at it with much trepidation as the coachman helps us out.
We thank him and move toward the door. With a shaky hand, I reach for the brass door knocker and let it fall with a hollow-sounding thunk. My heart beats faster as a servant in a perfectly pressed tail-coat shows us inside.
I glimpse an abundance of lovely things—richly colored paintings, vibrant red and gold carpet, marble pillars—before we are led up to the first floor by way of a sweeping marble staircase. My grandmother waits for us in the drawing room, and it is just as elegant as the entrance hall—but with a much more feminine feel. The walls are done in pretty robin’s egg blue hues with floral silk wall hangings, while the floor-to-ceiling windows admit the afternoon sun.
Grandmama stands in the middle of the room, her hands folded in front of her violet-hued tailored dress. Her hair has not yet gone gray, and is still a rich auburn. Another lady catches my eye; she waits behind my grandmother with her hands clasped, dressed in a smart tailor-made suit done in somber shades of charcoal. This must be the governess Grandmama brought in for Lucy. Her expression is one of polite interest, but her eyes seem kind.
After a brief hesitation, Grandmama steps forward and presses a dry kiss on my cheek. “Katherine, you’re as beautiful as your mother.”
She turns to Lucy and kisses both her cheeks. “Lucy, darling,” she says, gazing at her with a warm smile, “you look so grown up.”
“Thank you, Grandmama,” I say. “We’re delighted to see you. You were so kind to invite us here for the season.”
“Your home is exquisite,” Lucy adds, her smile brightening her eyes.
“I’m thrilled your father could spare you.” She holds her hand out toward the lady behind her. “If I may introduce Miss Coraline Watts, Lucy’s governess.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Miss Watts says with a reserved smile.
“Lucy, dear, I was just horrified when I discovered your father had not graduated you to a finishing governess. Miss Watts is extremely accomplished in all the things a young lady will need to truly shine: fine arts, piano, dancing, proper etiquette . . .” Her eyes briefly meet mine. “She will have you ready for your own debut in no time at all.”
Lucy smiles brightly at the mention of her own future debut, but the slight against Papa has me gritting my teeth. Where were you, then, Grandmama, I think, if you believe him so incompetent?
“I thank you for such a glowing recommendation,” Miss Watts says, not quite meeting Grandmama’s eyes. “Miss Sinclair, we will begin your instruction tomorrow after breakfast.”
“Thank you, Miss Watts,” Grandmama says, and the governess shares a brief smile with Lucy before taking her leave. Grandmama gestures toward an ivory sofa. “Come, sit and have some tea with me. You must be parched after traveling all day.”
Another liveried servant appears to pour our tea and returns to his place against the wall.
“Now then,” Grandmama says, “we’ll have a brief chat, and then you must retire to your rooms. Rest is in order so you will both be fresh for the small assembly we shall attend this evening.”
I take a sip of tea to hide my disappointment. Going somewhere tonight is the last thing I want to do after traveling all day. At least she’s taken into account our need for rest. “What will this assembly entail?”
Her dark eyes narrow at me ever so slightly. “We have been invited to dine at Lady Hasting’s this evening.” She turns to Lucy. “Because it will be such a small affair with no dancing, you will be allowed to attend.”
Lucy smiles at her graciously. “Oh, how exciting. I only hope the gowns we brought with us will be fashionable enough.”
“You’ll find your wardrobes are already well-stocked,” she says in a self-satisfied way.
I think of the beautiful drawing Lucy did and frown. “Our gowns have already been chosen for us?”
“Naturally.” Her eyes scan my wrinkled and travel-worn skirt. “I thought you’d much rather have a new wardrobe for the season.”
What she means is: “I knew your own wardrobes would be unfit for London society.” It was true, but I find my defenses rising. Will we have no say in what we wear?
“I’m very grateful you’ve anticipated our need, but I hope we will have a chance to speak with your dressmaker while we’re here.” Her eyes widen, like she can’t believe I’m being so forward, but I press on—for Lucy. “Lucy has a talent for designing gowns, you see, and we’d hoped to show her drawing and have a dress made.”
I nod at Lucy, and she pulls out her drawing from her small reticule. She hands it to Grandmama, a hesitant smile on her face.
“What a fascinating skill,” Grandmama says, after glancing at the paper. “I’ll send for the dressmaker on the morrow.”
“Thank you, Grandmama,” Lucy says.
“Now then. We must discuss how important tonight will be,” my grandmother says. “As I’m sure your dear father has told you, the Earl of Thornewood has agreed to ease your debut into society.”
I nod, a prickle of worry tensing my shoulders. It’s a curious thing. Part of me is very much afraid I will embarrass myself in front of this man, and the other is nervous he will be just the thing to make my debut successful. Unfortunately, the only thing my father and grandmother will consider a success is marriage.
“He will be there tonight, so I’ve had your lady’s maid lay out a gown for the evening that will best showcase your fair coloring.”
“You make it sound as though the earl is a potential suitor,” I say, the tensing of my shoulders now spreading to my spine.
She raises her delicately arched eyebrows. “But of course, darling. What else would he be?”
“Someone to ease my debut into society?” Had she not said these very words to me? As had my father.
“He is that, but he is also an earl, and an earl is a potential suitor—no matter his original purpose.”
Nightmare images of my grandmother dragging me determinedly from potential suitor to potential suitor flash before my eyes.
“Tonight will also be a chance for me to examine your social graces and determine whether they are up to par,” she says.
“Our father has provided us with such tutelage,” I say. Lucy glances at me and raises her eyebrows. I’m sure she disagrees with the edge in my voice, but I do not heed her warning.
Grandmama waves her hand as if shooing a fly. “Country manners are quite different. Here your every move will be judged. You must be above reproach.” I open my mouth to let out another retort, but she gestures for one of the servants. “I’m sure you are both fatigued. Allow Mary to show you to your rooms.”
I’m torn between wanting to have my say and take my rest, but I know when I’ve been dismissed.
FOUR
A small gathering for dinner clearly does not mean the same thing to my grandmother as it does to me. I pictured perhaps ten people at most, including Lucy, Grandmama, and me. But more than twenty faces stare at me as we enter the room and a servant takes our coats. After a brief impression of the narrow, but well-lit, entryway, we are led to the drawing room.
As I take in the room, it seems the owner is rather fond of garish décor. Every wall is covered in crimson satin, and a tapestry hangs atop the satin on more than one wall. Though the room is of a modest size, it has two crystal chandeliers and so many light bulbs and lamps it appears as if it is the middle of the afternoon.
“Lucille,�
� a short round woman says with her arms open wide. She and my grandmother embrace, and she gives her a kiss on either cheek. “How lovely to see you.” Her owlish eyes turn to Lucy and me. “These must be your granddaughters.”
“If you’d give me a moment, Claudia,” my grandmother says with a touch of annoyance, “I shall introduce them.”
“Ah, yes,” Claudia says without a shred of remorse.
“This is Katherine, my eldest granddaughter,” she says, “and Lucy, my youngest. I have a grandson, too, but he is away at Oxford. Girls, this is Lady Claudia Hasting, the hostess to whom you owe your thanks for this nice party.”
Our first introduction to a member of the uppercrust of society, and she is nothing like I expected. I’d imagined someone with stiff manners and cold demeanor, but she is neither. As a baroness, she is technically of a lower station than Grandmama, but as Grandmama so kindly explained to us in the carriage, Lady Hasting is a great deal wealthier. And as the Americans have taught us, wealth can often overcome title.
We smile politely, and Lady Hasting says, “You see my youngest daughter, Penelope, there on the piano. Does she not play beautifully? She has a great love for music and has become rather accomplished.”
I look over at a girl with Lady Hasting’s same large eyes and silky brown hair pulled into an intricate style. A gentleman with rather severe-looking features watches from a nearby table as she plays a lilting Irish tune. Her mother didn’t exaggerate, though—she does play beautifully.
“My dear husband is there,” Lady Hasting says, indicating the man watching his daughter with a critical eye. “Of course you know you’re horribly late,” Lady Hasting says to Grandmama, “but I shall forgive you since we are awaiting the earl with bated breath, and your entrance was of little consequence.”
I stiffen in response to her slight, but my grandmother laughs her off good-naturedly. “Claudia, dinner hasn’t even been served yet.”
“Very well then. I shall make introductions later. No one will pay me the least bit of attention until Lord Thornewood has arrived—and perhaps not even then.”
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