Arcana

by Jessica Leake

  I think of how nervous Hyacinth and Rose were. “Yes, I’m sure it’s exhausting to be forced to make the acquaintance of so many young ladies.”

  The corners of his lips twitch as if he is suppressing a grin. “You cannot imagine.”

  If he was Robert, I’d roll my eyes at him. As he is the earl, I can do nothing but smile tightly.

  He bends low over my hand. As he barely brushes a kiss over the sensitive skin, his eyes lock onto mine. “However, I was very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Sinclair. Perhaps escorting you will not be such a hardship after all.”

  FIVE

  I awake at dawn, as I do every morning, and find I’m the only one up. The servants are quick to inform me the others don’t leave their rooms before eight o’clock in the morning, and breakfast would not be served until nine.

  I would love to go riding, but I also know I cannot go unchaperoned. A book in hand, I curl up on the window seat, though it’s difficult to rein in my wandering mind. I usually only stay indoors and read at night or when the weather is adverse, and I long to be outside.

  I read the same sentence five times before I give up and shut the book. The earl’s face keeps appearing in my mind, and I resent that he has taken over my thoughts without even being present.

  I walk over to my trunk and retrieve my mother’s journal. Perhaps an entry will appear that will serve as a distraction from the earl’s overbearing presence in my mind.

  The leather is smooth in my hands, and I let the book fall open to a page somewhere in the middle. It’s blank, and I almost close it again, but then the words appear. I lean back with a contented sigh and pray Mama will have some words of advice.

  My dearest Katherine,

  I hope it will not be too much of an imposition for you to stay with your grandmother. She is such a well-connected figure in high society your father and I always knew it would be for the best if she were the one to help ease your debut. Though, of course, I believed I would be there with you.

  I’m sure, as a young lady, you are well aware your grandmother and I were never close. I pray she will not let this color her relationship with you, but I fear she will only see my eyes when she gazes upon your face. Your grandmother is not a bad person, but she is one of those who, like others I tried to shield you from, was never able to accept the truth of our lineage.

  There is so much I wish I could teach you about society: how there are so many rules it sometimes feels as though you are suffocating, or how everything from your manner of dress to the type of carriage in which you arrive is picked apart. Or, most importantly, how a single rumor can have the destructive power of a criminal offense. And yet, the rules of English society pale in comparison to those of Sylvania.

  Just as the English nobles marry for wealth and titles, the Sylvan nobility married for the most powerful arcana bloodlines. Our family has many abilities, not least of all manipulating the elements, healing, and premonitions, but even these were not enough. Your grandfather desired one of the rarest arcana: the ability to harness our energy and use it for destructive force. The Sylvani who could perform this terrible arcana could level whole cities with a wave of power. And for the first time in thousands of years, a Sylvan male recently manifested this ability. Political battles broke out over which family would be joined in marriage to the Sylvani who would now rule us all.

  Your grandfather won that battle, and my marriage was arranged to Lord Elric without my consent. After I fell in love with your father, it was only because of my mother’s unwavering love for me that I was able to leave my realm. She braved my father’s wrath, though in the end, not even she could prevent my exile. She was beautifully strong and steadfast. You have always reminded me of her.

  I know navigating society will be difficult for you, as outspoken as you are. It’s practically a requirement for nobility to be obtuse; they never say what they mean. But neither must you become caught up in their petty games.

  Never lose sight of who you are.

  With great love and tender affection,

  Mama

  I read and reread my mother’s words. She very rarely spoke of my Sylvan grandparents when she was alive, and now I know why. How terribly painful to have a father who thought only of the advancement of his family’s bloodlines—and how blessed my siblings and I were to have such a loving father. Just the thought of being forced into a marriage with a man I have never met makes my stomach twist in disgust.

  I think of the small glimpse of society I encountered last night. If I learned anything from my interaction with the earl—and the almost palpable desperation of the ambitious mamas in attendance—it was that social status trumps all else. Though even that rule seemed to depend upon the wealth of the noble in question, since Lady Hasting was able to practically insult my grandmother without consequence.

  My mother was certainly right about Grandmama, though I suppose her treatment of me hasn’t been quite as cold as I expected. I still remember a time when I was only four or five years old, and my grandmother was visiting Bransfield for the last time. My grandfather had still been alive. Mama worked for weeks to prepare the house for their stay; she wanted it all just so, and she let me tag along with her while she spoke with the servants to choose everything from linens to which dishes would be served when.

  My grandparents arrived a day later than planned. From the moment Grandmama entered our home, she radiated a sort of cold indifference. She greeted her room with a critical eye, she found the meals bland, and she reduced two of the maids to tears. When Robert and I were brought down from the nursery to see her, she sneered at us like we were lepers. “Their manner of dress leaves much to be desired,” she told Mama and walked away without another word.

  It was the last time Mama ever made an effort to reach out to Grandmama. Though I’ve never been able to discuss it with her, now that I am older, I know it was the insult to her own children that hardened Mama’s heart.

  One of the maids interrupts my anger-provoking memories to call me for breakfast, and I try rather unsuccessfully to bury the dislike I have for my own grandmother before entering the dining room.

  “Good morning,” Lucy says and sits in the chair beside me. She glances around the room for a moment and lowers her voice, “Were you able to find any garish sun pins upon Lord Thornewood’s bow tie?”

  I laugh. “No, he was quite free of any identifying marks.”

  “Either that, or you gave up the search.”

  I take a sip of tea to hide my smile, but Lucy is perceptive as ever.

  “I knew it,” she says. “I saw the way the two of you were staring at one another—like you rather wished no one else was there.”

  “He is intriguing, I’ll grant you that. Though I think he may be charming in the way many dangerous men are—the better to draw unsuspecting ladies in.”

  She gives me a look much too wise for her years and takes a bite of her toast. “You are hardly unsuspecting. He was reserved, perhaps, maybe even aloof at times, but not dangerous.”

  “How can you be sure? You cannot, of course,” I say when she flounders for a retort. “Rob was right to say I should be cautious.” Unbidden, thoughts of the earl’s gaze intent on mine rise to the forefront of my mind.

  Annoyed with my thoughts, I press down too hard with my knife, and it skitters across my plate.

  Lucy smiles. “You’re blushing again.”

  Grandmama walks into the room, effectively ending any further talk on the subject. When she joins us at the table, I have to force myself to take a bite of food else I’ll pepper her with questions. Am I to spend each day in such mind-numbing boredom as this morning?

  My booted foot taps beneath the table as she takes her time buttering her toast and fixing her tea. She takes a sip, nods, and then turns to me. “Mary tells me you were up before even she was this morning.”

  “Yes, mum, I—”

  “A lady in town for the season does not rise with the servants. It’s just not
done.”

  My mouth tightens. “Well, I cannot simply tell my body when to sleep. I’m used to rising early, and it will not be an easy habit to change.”

  “That’s an easy way to wear yourself out. With the late suppers and balls, you won’t be fit to be seen the next morning.”

  Lucy nudges me with her foot, so I press my lips together and stare at my plate. I cannot believe she is telling me when to wake now.

  Grandmama pulls out a slip of paper and passes it to me. “While we’re on the subject of your schedule, here is your itinerary for the week.”

  My eyes scan back and forth over my grandmother’s neat handwriting. For the next week, I’m scheduled to do everything from letter-writing to a carriage ride in the park each day. She has my entire day planned, so I will scarcely be able to draw breath before going on to the next thing.

  She points to tomorrow’s schedule. “You see I have added a visit with the dressmaker.” She smiles at Lucy. “We shall show her your drawing and see how well she can replicate it.”

  “How wonderful,” Lucy says, her eyes bright.

  “So I am to go to the park today?” I ask. That is one good thing.

  Grandmama glances at the paper. “Yes, and I dare say, you’d best get ready. We’ll leave in an hour.”

  Just before I leave the room, she says, “Oh, and Katherine? Wear the violet carriage outfit. I know for a fact Lord Thornewood will be there.”

  “Yes, Grandmama,” I say.

  Let the parade begin.

  Hyde Park. The place where society goes to gossip and husband hunt with exercise as a thin excuse. Even worse, it’s just Grandmama and me. Lucy remained behind with Miss Watts, studying art from the Renaissance period.

  It’s unseasonably warm today, and I long to remove my coat, lovely as it is.

  “Do not even think of removing your coat,” Grandmama says with a little glance my way. “It is meant to be worn over your blouse and skirt.” I close my eyes to keep from rolling them.

  She guides the horses through the park’s entrance and slows them to a sedate trot. I fret with the edge of my coat as I take in the number of people already here. Ladies dressed in elaborate hats perch in high open carriages, elegant men ride by on their sleek horses and tip their hats to us, while others stroll down the paths for promenade.

  Grandmama greets each person by name as we pass, and my face soon becomes tired of holding a smile. I stare longingly at the river that runs parallel to the driving path, and when the horses slow even more, I have to fight the urge to simply jump down.

  “Grandmama, do you mind if I go for a walk?”

  She doesn’t answer me right away, and I fidget the entire time. “Yes, I think that would be a good idea. You will be able to meet far more people that way. I’ll drive the horses around once and come back for you.”

  She guides the phaeton off to the side, and I climb down as gracefully as possible in my long skirt with its sturdy fabric. I stride off before she can change her mind.

  Many people smile and nod at me as I make my way to the shining lake, and I return the smile briefly but avoid making eye contact for long. I would rather not be caught in a dull conversation on the weather or how I’m enjoying my stay in London.

  As soon as I reach the water’s edge, I let out a breath and relax my tense shoulders. Though it’s only been a day, I can already feel the gilded cage of the city closing in around me. I miss the fresh, open air of the country. Even in this park, with its open fields, trees, and idyllic lake, there are more people than I would see in a week at Bransfield.

  The water rushing past me is cold, but I long to dip my feet in. I step closer to the bank and tilt my head up to the warm sun. A breeze teases a few tendrils of hair loose from my chignon, and I smile at its caress. My skin soaks up the sunlight, replenishing my lost energy. Yet another reason I feel so restricted in the city. Without regular time spent outdoors, my stores of power reduce drastically. And as they are irrevocably tied to the energy that keeps my heart beating, I’d rather not find out what happens when I am denied my time in the sun.

  The trod of horse hooves alerts me to someone’s presence, but I am loath to turn around.

  “You would do well not to get too close to the water,” a man’s voice says behind me. “Many have drowned before.”

  I turn and shield my eyes with my hand. I have to look up to see him as he is astride a lovely bay mount. “My lord,” I say and drop into a curtsy. “You are concerned for my safety?”

  That came out more flirtatious than I intended, and I watch a grin bloom across his face. In one smooth movement, he dismounts from his horse. His gaze rakes over my appearance; I try to ignore the effect it has coupled with his equally dark hair and eyes, but it still accelerates my heart more than I would like. I frown up at him.

  “Well imagine how horrifying it would be if I were to witness such a thing,” he says. “I would undoubtedly have to go in and save you. We’d both catch cold, and then it would all be for naught.”

  “How morbid you are. Can I not enjoy the view?”

  He ignores my question and peers around. “Where is your mount? Or carriage?”

  “Perhaps I walked here,” I say, my voice betraying my irritation at his abrupt subject change.

  “Don’t play coy, Miss Sinclair.” His grip must tighten on the reins because his horse tosses his head in protest. “Do you need an escort? This park is well attended, but there are areas that can be rather . . . unsavory.”

  “No, I came with my grandmother.” I look back at the shimmering water. “I just wanted a chance to walk.”

  His horse lets out a loud snort and stamps his hoof, and out of reflex, I reach out to stroke his neck.

  “Don’t—” the earl calls out, but cuts himself off when his horse drops his head and allows me to stroke his velvety nose.

  I meet the earl’s look of surprise.

  “I was going to say he has a temper,” he says, “but I can see it was an unnecessary warning.”

  I withdraw my hand and laugh when his horse seeks it out again with his nose. “I’m just used to my own horses. They can be temperamental, too. I wish I had one or two here with me. My grandmother’s are too sedate for my tastes.”

  Lord Thornewood’s eyebrows raise and he smirks at me. “Indeed? You like a mount with more fire?”

  “I wouldn’t describe them so, but I do like a horse that enjoys a faster pace than a trot.”

  “I cannot believe I’m discussing horses with a lady. You haven’t yet learned the infuriating female art of small talk, I take it.”

  I tilt my head at him. “Does my having an opinion on something other than the weather or the latest fashion intimidate you, my lord? If so, I apologize. I shall endeavor to dumb down my conversation posthaste.”

  As soon as the words leave my mouth, I drop my eyes to the horse’s nose. What is wrong with me? How could I speak in such a thoughtless manner to an earl of all people?

  To my surprise, he laughs, the sound delightfully rich. “You have a fascinating manner of speaking, Miss Sinclair. I cannot wait for your coming out. Society won’t know what to make of you.”

  “I was under the impression society does not look kindly upon those who do not follow their rules.”

  “They say that, yes.” He leans closer to me. “But secretly, it fascinates them.”

  “That is very good to know since I would like to avoid excessive attention.”

  And I’ve said too much again. What debutante wants to avoid attention? Preposterous. I shouldn’t be allowed to speak.

  His eyes appraise me. “I very much doubt you will be able to avoid it. Perhaps if you avoid singing, playing the piano, or speaking.”

  Before I can answer, two ladies call out to Lord Thornewood on their way down to the river. They are both dressed in crisp white blouses, dark skirts, and corresponding embroidered jackets. They walk with mincing ladylike steps, and though I am wearing an equally expensive outfit, I still fe
el out of place.

  “My lord,” the one with hair nearly the same color as my own says, “how fortuitous of us to stumble upon you here. I don’t believe I have ever seen you at Hyde Park.” Her eyes dart from his face to mine, and I can see she very much wants to ask who I am and why we are alone talking by the river, but to do so would be impolite. In any case, it’s hardly my fault no one else is around.

  “Good morning, Miss Gray. Miss Uppington.” He holds a gloved hand toward me. “Allow me to do the honor of presenting the Honorable Katherine Sinclair, here in town for her debut.”

  We face each other and sink into curtsies. As we are all around the same age, they give me their first names as well: Miss Eliza Gray and Miss Amelia Uppington.

  “Did you just come to town?” Eliza, the one who first addressed the earl, asks.

  “Yes, my grandmother was kind enough to invite me here for the season.”

  “I know of Lady Sinclair,” Amelia says with a smile. She has a heart-shaped face and dark hair, and she seems the more approachable of the two. “She is a very dear friend of my aunt’s.”

  “And when will you have your debut?” Eliza asks, though it seems she has a difficult time keeping her eyes on my face when Lord Thornewood is much more interesting to look at.

  “Wednesday next,” I say, and her eyes dart to mine.

  “Where did you say you were from?” she asks, sharply.

  “I didn’t,” I say.

  Her friend giggles nervously. “We will both be debuting then as well.”

  Eliza puts a gloved finger to her chin. “I seem to remember a Lady Sinclair who is a rather upstanding member of the peerage.”

  “She’s her grandmother,” Amelia says.

  “Ah,” Eliza says, “she must have arranged for your debut then.”

  I open my mouth to retort, but she turns to Lord Thornewood. “My lord, I hope you will be in attendance at Duchess Cecily’s ball next Wednesday.”

  He looks at me when he answers. “Yes.”

  Her eyes narrow, and I find myself stiffening in response. “Now that I think of it,” she says, “I believe I heard talk about town of a Miss Sinclair from Gloucestershire.”