Renegade Magic

by Burgis, Stephanie

  “Aha.” Scarwood leaned back, shaking my hand off his arm as easily as he might shake off a fly. “The famous brother, I take it.”

  “Indeed,” said Angeline. Her face was flushed. She glared at him, her chin held high. “You may take your leave, sir, at once.”

  “As Beauty commands,” he said, and bowed mockingly. “But I shall only say au revoir, rather than farewell. You see, I am on my way to Bath as well. I am certain—I am entirely certain—that we shall see each other there. And when we do meet again, I shall know your name.”

  He strolled down the passageway and out the front door at an unhurried pace.

  As soon as the door closed behind him, Angeline turned on Charles. “Could you possibly have taken any longer?”

  He blinked at us. “The private room’s all sorted out,” he said. “It’s just upstairs. The thing is …” He lowered his voice confidentially. “I’m in a bit of a fix, and I wondered—could I possibly borrow a few shillings from one of you? You see, there’s a matter of honor I have to attend to, and I’ve used up all my own money, so—”

  “No!” Angeline said. “Good God, Charles, you really are hopeless. If you hadn’t run yourself into debt, I daresay you’d still be in there, wouldn’t you? I might have known it.”

  “Yes, but you see, if I don’t pay …”

  “Here,” I said, and reached into my reticule. Of course it was true that Charles was hopeless, but it was also true that he’d been talked into helping me out of my own troubles a thousand times before. I fixed him with a Serious Look. “You can have three shillings. But you can only use them to pay your debt, all right? If you try to gamble any more with them, I will tell Stepmama, and then—”

  “I won’t,” he said hastily. “You’re a good sort, Kat. I’ll pay you back when I can, I promise.”

  “Ha,” said Angeline. “Where exactly is this private room you’ve found for us, Charles?”

  “Oh, that’s upstairs. First door on the left—landlord says you couldn’t miss it. But look here …” His brows knitted into an expression of unusual gravity as he looked at Angeline. “That fellow I saw you with—that was Scarwood, wasn’t it?”

  “Viscount Scarwood, yes.” Angeline scowled. “He introduced himself. You were nowhere in sight, much to everyone’s surprise, and so—”

  “But look here, Angeline, that was Scarwood.”

  “Yes, we’ve covered that point quite sufficiently, I think.”

  “But, I say …” He shook his head. “Scarwood’s a bad sort. I’ve heard stories you wouldn’t like to know about him.”

  “I’m sure we wouldn’t.” Angeline took my arm. “Come, Kat.”

  “Well, if Stepmama had seen you, you would be in even more trouble than you already are,” Charles said. “The man’s a rake. If she thought you were encouraging him, she’d have one of her spasms. So you’d better stay well away from him from now on, if you know what’s good for you.”

  “You don’t say.” Angeline’s eyes gleamed with sudden interest. The sight filled me with dread. Charles, of course, didn’t notice—he was already turning away, with my guinea held firmly in his hand. But I was watching, and I saw the slow, dangerous smile spread across Angeline’s face. “Thank you, Charles,” she said. “For once, you’ve been exceedingly helpful.”

  Seven

  We rode into Bath in a hired carriage that would have put Squire Briggs’s best traveling carriage to shame. The dark blue paint was so glossy, it positively glowed in the bright September sunlight; the four chestnut horses pranced in perfect time. I had no idea how Stepmama had found such an elegant equipage in so short a time, in an unfamiliar town—or how on earth she and Papa had managed to afford it—but Stepmama in the grip of an icy rage was a force that could move mountains, much less carriages. The poor owner of the carriage was probably still quaking in his boots a full hour later, as the spires of Bath rose before us.

  If Stepmama had let me, I would have pressed my hands and face to the window to soak it all in. Charles might say all he liked about Bath being a mere spa town and nothing to compare with London itself (where he’d spent all of two days, three years ago), but I’d never seen so large a city in my life. Tall buildings of light-colored stone loomed around us as we drove through the clustered streets. The wide pavements swarmed with promenading ladies and gentlemen wearing fashions I’d never even heard of. Even through the glass windows of the carriage, the overpowering stench of the city itself nearly choked me.

  Our carriage finally came to a halt in the middle of a circle of massive, pale stone townhouses, each lined with its own set of imposing pillars, like dozens of Greek temples from one of Papa’s books, all smashed together into four long, curving buildings. The whole circle of townhouses looped smoothly around a patch of parkland scarcely larger than our own back garden at home.

  “The Circus,” Stepmama announced to the carriage at large. I noticed fresh spots of color high on her cheeks. She spoke more rapidly than usual. “Not the Royal Crescent itself, unfortunately, but still one of the most fashionable addresses in Bath. Very few people could ever afford to live here.”

  I looked out the window at the sweeping curve of townhouses. “Then how can we afford to?”

  “You may consider yourself extremely fortunate in my family connections,” Stepmama said, and sailed out of the carriage with a martial look in her eye.

  I stifled a groan. “We’re staying with Stepmama’s best relatives?” I whispered to Angeline. “But we’ve never even met them. They can’t have invited us. They didn’t even care enough to send congratulations for Elissa’s wedding!”

  “Think about this,” Angeline murmured back. “Even if Stepmama bothered to ask for an invitation before we left, how could she have received any response?”

  “You mean—they might not even know yet that we’re coming?”

  “Even if they do know by now, they certainly weren’t given any choice in the matter, were they?”

  “Oh, Lord!” I said, and looked at Papa. The melancholy look on his face was even more pronounced than usual. “Papa, is that true? We weren’t even invited?”

  He only winced in response.

  “Oh, jolly good,” Charles drawled. “Wake me when it’s all over, will you?” He closed his eyes, crossed his arms, and settled himself more firmly into the cushions of the carriage. A thick hank of blond hair fell over his eyes, shielding him even more.

  “Girls!” Stepmama snapped through the carriage doorway. “Hurry!”

  Angeline smoothed down her gown, adjusted the tilt of her bonnet, and stepped out onto the pavement with the air of a rather bored visiting princess. I scrambled after her, clutching my reticule.

  Even for Stepmama, this sounded like a challenge.

  Bright sunshine bounced off all the windows in the closest townhouse, so I couldn’t see inside. “Let’s hope they’re not out of town right now,” I said.

  “Let’s hope they didn’t leave town when they heard we were coming,” Angeline added.

  “That is quite enough from both of you,” said Stepmama.

  The pavement was crowded with ladies carrying parasols and gentlemen carrying elaborate quizzing glasses—a reminder of Lord Ravenscroft that I didn’t need, especially not as we prepared to meet Stepmama’s most snobbish good relations. All of the promenaders watched with undisguised curiosity as Charles and Papa followed us out of the carriage, Charles wearing his most particularly blank expression—retreating, as usual, from any scene of potential conflict. Of course, none of our observers could speak to us without a proper introduction, but I heard the whispers of speculation rise around us as we approached the front door.

  No wonder Stepmama had wanted us to arrive in an impressive conveyance … but with our clothes cut in such different fashions from those of the ladies around us, no one could possibly miss the fact that we were country cousins. If Stepmama’s relations turned us away at the door, we would certainly provide a good day’s gossip for the cr
owd outside.

  Stepmama nodded to Papa, and he stepped forward with sagging shoulders to rap the great brass knocker on the townhouse’s front door. I felt the eyes of the whole crowd fixed upon us as a black-clad butler opened the door. He looked like a relic from the last century with his powdered white wig, but his shoulders were impressively bulky under his uniform, and he stepped forward to block the door as if he were protecting the king himself. I thought that unless Stepmama had taken secret wrestling lessons of her own, we might have difficulty getting past him.

  Papa coughed apologetically and held out a calling-card. “The, ah, Reverend George Stephenson, Mrs. Stephenson, Mr. Stephenson, Miss Stephenson, and Miss Katherine Stephenson …” As the butler’s thick, reddish-brown eyebrows rose higher and higher, Papa’s voice ran down into an embarrassed mumble. “… here to present their compliments to Mrs. Wingate and her family.”

  “They are expecting us,” Stepmama added, in a much louder voice.

  The butler looked down his large nose at both of them. “I’m afraid Mrs. Wingate is not at home to visitors.”

  “I told you they might not be in town,” I said.

  Angeline’s elbow jabbed into my ribs.

  Stepmama said, “Nonsense. We are not visitors, we are family. Come, girls.” She took Papa’s arm and dragged him with her as she plunged straight ahead.

  “Madam!” the butler began.

  But it was too late. Stepmama might look slender beside him, but she was powered by sheer, undiluted determination. She shouldered against him, and the tall, feathered plumes from her bonnet poked him directly in the eye. He stumbled backward, and she swept triumphantly into the foyer of the townhouse.

  She hadn’t needed wrestling lessons after all.

  It was obvious, though, that the butler needed lessons in dealing with her. For all his height and bulk, he stood gaping at her like a ninny as she pulled Papa past him. “Madam!”

  “I said come, girls,” Stepmama snapped to me and Angeline. Only then did she turn back to the glaring butler. “I have already explained to you that we are expected. Why have you not yet gone to inform your mistress that we’ve arrived?”

  “Why, indeed?” Angeline murmured softly. Behind us, Charles let out a humorless bark of laughter, quickly stifled.

  Angeline and I stepped together into the wide foyer. It was wallpapered in a rich garnet red, and both the floor and the staircase beyond were made of marble, making it feel more like a palace than a house. Charles followed us inside, sighing, and closed the door behind him, shutting out the watching crowd.

  The butler’s whole face turned as red as an apple beneath his white wig. “As I told you, madam, Mrs. Wingate is not expecting any visitors!”

  “And I told you that we are family.” Stepmama drew herself up to her full height. “Mrs. Wingate will not be pleased when I report your insolence.”

  He glared at her. “I know of no Stephensons in Mrs. Wingate’s family.”

  “That,” Stepmama said, “shows how shamefully little you know of your employer. Now, will you announce us to her, or must we announce ourselves?”

  His mouth opened and closed twice without uttering a word. Then he swung on his heel and stalked toward the staircase, his shoes echoing on the marble floor. “Wait here,” he snapped. As he walked up the stairs, every bone in his back and neck vibrated with outrage.

  At the top of the staircase, he disappeared behind a closed door, and the five of us were left alone in the grand foyer. Charles shook his head and propped his shoulders against the garnet wallpaper, closing his eyes. Papa shrank in on himself even more.

  Stepmama said, “Well! I shall have to speak with my cousin about the quality of her servants.”

  Angeline didn’t say a word, but the expression on her face spoke for her.

  I swung my reticule from my arm and turned in a circle to properly take in the foyer around me. After all, it was the grandest place I’d ever been—and this would probably be my only chance to see it.

  The door at the top of the staircase opened. The butler strode out, looking as sour as if he’d just bitten into a lemon.

  “Mrs. Wingate will see you,” he announced.

  Stepmama raised her eyebrows at him. “Are you not going to take our coats and bonnets first?”

  Even Angeline winced. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the butler had let out a snarl. Instead, after one frozen moment, he set his jaw and walked back down the stairs, his bearing rigidly correct.

  I unbuttoned my pelisse and untied the strings of my bonnet as hastily as I could. There was no point asking for trouble.

  Once the butler had finally disposed of all three pelisses, three bonnets, and two greatcoats—all with the air of a man forced to touch muddy undergarments against his will—Stepmama gave him a grim smile.

  “Now,” she said, “we are ready.”

  But I recognized that glittering look in her eyes as sheer bravado. It was one thing to overawe a butler, and quite another to overawe the sort of person who owned a house like this—the sort of person Stepmama herself had always longed to be.

  I wondered how long, exactly, it would be before we were packed together in the stagecoach once again, heading back to Yorkshire. I hoped it would be long enough to eat a proper meal first.

  We followed the butler up the staircase, Charles and Papa trailing last in line. As the butler opened the door to a large, bright sitting room, his face smoothed back into its original expression of aloof dignity.

  “The Reverend George Stephenson,” he intoned. “Mrs. Stephenson …” His upper lip lifted in a sneer. “… and family.”

  Well, that was us. I curtsied as well as I could. In my first quick glance around the room, I’d seen a middle-aged lady on a sofa, two girls at a round table, and a footman standing at rigid attention by the tall windows across the room. Now, with my head lowered, all I could see were splashes of sunlight across the luxuriant Persian carpet, exotic Egyptian-style wooden sofa legs, and the middle-aged lady’s slippered feet, poking out from beneath her skirts. Her slippers were made of olive-colored silk, and looked as if they’d never been worn before.

  “Mrs. Stephenson,” Mrs. Wingate said, in a tone that rivaled even her butler’s for haughtiness. “I received your surprising letter this morning.”

  “Cousin Caroline.” Stepmama started across the Persian carpet, hands outstretched. “How lovely it is to see you again after so many years!”

  From the expression on Mrs. Wingate’s long, heavy-jowled face, Stepmama might as well have been a rat scurrying across the expensive carpet toward her.

  A slow burn started in my stomach, working upward. Stepmama might be … well, herself … but she didn’t deserve to be looked at the way her cousin was looking at her now. No one did.

  I looked past the sofa to the round table where the two girls sat. The younger one looked no older than me, and she was watching us with open curiosity. I didn’t mind that. But the older girl wore a smile that made me want to punch her.

  It took Stepmama a moment to realize that Mrs. Wingate was not going to take her outstretched hands. Her smile sagged. Her arms lowered. And I made a decision.

  I had disliked Stepmama’s snobbish relations ever since she’d first opened her mouth to brag about them, approximately two hours after she’d arrived in our vicarage five years ago. I had certainly never wanted to stay with them.

  But I would be dashed if I’d allow them to crush her without a fight.

  So before Stepmama could say a word, I said in my sweetest and most innocent voice, “What a very lovely room this is.”

  It was as if a piece of furniture had spoken out loud. Mrs. Wingate’s eyebrows rose in surprise, but she didn’t even bother to look at me. “Have you encouraged your stepdaughter to be so forward, at her age?” she asked Stepmama.

  Stepmama said, “Katherine—”

  “Why, this is a much finer house than Lady Fotherington claimed,” I said. “I wonder what she could h
ave been thinking to say such rude things about it?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Mrs. Wingate’s head snapped around with the speed of a striking snake. “What did you say?”

  “Pardon me,” I said, and curtsied again. “Stepmama always tells me I am much too forward. I shan’t say another word, I promise.”

  Angeline made a choking sound and turned away. Stepmama looked as if she’d seen a ghost.

  “Please forgive my youngest stepdaughter, Cousin,” she said. “It has been a long journey for a girl her age, and—”

  Mrs. Wingate waved her to silence without a glance. “What exactly did Lady Fotherington say to you about my house?” she demanded.

  I peeked up from beneath demurely lowered eyelashes. “May I speak?” I asked Stepmama.

  She raised one hand to her head. “Oh—”

  “It’s only that I was so surprised,” I said to Mrs. Wingate. “I don’t know how Lady Fotherington came to be so mistaken about your house and your good taste. Why, when I told her we would be staying here, she said … well, I don’t think it would be polite to say exactly what she said.” I shot a pointed glance at the butler behind us. “Not in front of the servants.”

  Mrs. Wingate’s heavy jaw worked up and down. “Why—”

  “I am so glad to see that she was wrong,” I said. “She had been quite concerned that your house wouldn’t be an appropriate place for us to stay, you see, if we wanted to meet really good company in Bath. Why, she even said we might be better off in a hotel if we wished to make a good impression on Society.”

  Mrs. Wingate stared at me. “How could you possibly have had such a conversation? What relation is Lady Fotherington to you?”

  I opened my mouth to answer. But Angeline spoke before me. “Why, madam,” she said with limpid sincerity. “Do you not know who my sister’s godmother is?”

  Stepmama made a strangled noise in the back of her throat. Papa let out a desperate series of coughs. Charles put one hand to his mouth as if to stifle a yawn … but I could have sworn I saw a grin pulling at the edges of his mouth.