“The worst of it is, I didn’t recognize him at the time, but later, when I realized …” He swung away from the mantel, dropping his hands to his sides and clenching them into fists. “That was Scarwood, wasn’t it? Viscount Scarwood, of all the scoundrels in England, kissing Angeline in the King’s Bath?”
“Well … yes,” I said. “But—”
“Scarwood.” He snarled the name like a curse. “If it were any other man in the world, I could understand. I could even stand aside, if that were what Angeline truly desired. But if you knew what I know about that man …”
“Angeline does,” I said. “I think that was the point.”
“The point?” He stared at me. “One of the worst rakes in England, notorious for ruining women’s reputations, destroying innocent lives—”
“Exactly,” I said. “Stepmama told Angeline she would be expelled from the family if she didn’t attract an eligible new suitor while we were in Bath. So the one suitor Angeline chose to publicly encourage and entice was the only one Stepmama would never, ever approve, the only one whose offer Angeline would never be allowed to accept. …” I watched enlightenment spread across his face, and relaxed. “You see?”
He shook his head. And then he laughed. This time, it sounded painful. “Oh, Lord. Oh, Angeline. Oh, what a fool!”
“You are not a fool,” I said. “It’s not your fault you didn’t grasp it immediately. What happened in the Baths did look terrible. That’s why she arranged it there—so that everyone in the Pump Room would see them together, and push Stepmama into—”
“I wasn’t talking about myself,” he said. “Angeline’s the fool. She thought she could manipulate Scarwood as easily as a girl playing with her toys.” His face turned grim again. “She has no idea how dangerous Scarwood really is.”
I moved closer to the fire, for warmth against the sudden chill. “Why, how dangerous do you think he is?”
He looked away for a moment, compressing his lips into a hard line. Then he said, “I know he can be utterly ruthless when it comes to taking what he wants. Now that he’s chosen Angeline as his latest diversion, he won’t give her up easily.”
“But …” My breathing was coming quickly now. “Angeline has her witchcraft. She can protect herself with magic—”
“Can she use her witchcraft to protect herself if she’s drugged and carried away in his carriage while unconscious? Or use it to save her reputation after an ‘elopement’ that never ended in marriage?” He shook his head, his blue eyes looking fiercer than I’d ever seen them before. “Angeline is the strongest woman I’ve ever met, and I’d gamble everything on her wits against Scarwood’s, but he is no gentleman. He won’t rely on his wits alone, and she cannot afford to risk herself—especially not for the sake of a mere stratagem against your stepmother.”
“No,” I said. “No, of course not. But we’re leaving Bath tomorrow. He doesn’t even know where we live.”
“Then she needs to be kept safe tonight.” He leaned down to stare straight into my eyes. “Tell me the truth, Kat. I trust you. Where is she right now?”
“Now?” I moistened my lips, fighting down nervousness. I knew what Angeline would want me to do. I had to think of a good story to explain her absence—one that she would approve of, one that wouldn’t make him worry.
I couldn’t think of a single idea. “Well,” I said, “the truth … the truth is …”
The scent of lilacs suddenly filled the room—Angeline’s magic, unmistakable. Thank goodness. I spun around to face the door.
It was still firmly closed. Angeline was nowhere in sight, and the scent was already fading away. I groaned with frustration. Behind me, Mr. Carlyle said in a strangled voice, “Kat? Have you seen this?”
A folded letter sat on the battered old couch behind me.
Addressed to Miss Katherine Stephenson, only, read the inscription.
It was written in Angeline’s handwriting.
Twenty-Three
Before I even opened the letter, I knew I wouldn’t like it.
Dear Kat. Angeline’s handwriting swirled across the page, confident and sweeping as ever. I am telling you this only so that you won’t go racing into trouble trying to find me. In case you’re even mildly tempted, I should also inform you that I’ve enspelled this letter not to find you until at least four hours after I’ve left Bath.
I choked.
“What?” said Mr. Carlyle. “What is it? What’s the matter?”
I shook my head at him, breathing hard, and kept on reading.
We both know I’ve ruined my chances with Frederick Carlyle, as well as enraging Stepmama. I very much doubt she would take me back into the family fold now, and I know—there was an ink splotch here, the first sign of discomposure—Frederick will never understand or forgive me for this morning’s misadventure, not when his mother is there to remind him that all her warnings against me have been proven true. Please don’t waste your time thinking, “I told you so,” Kat. It was not a bad plan, but it was hideously ill-timed, and there is nothing to be done about it now.
I ground my teeth together. If Angeline would ever talk to anyone else about her stupid schemes instead of sailing ahead without taking anybody’s advice, not even her own sister’s …
Mr. Carlyle was leaning toward me, trying to see over my shoulder. I stepped away, twitching the letter out of his sight. Until I knew the worst, I wouldn’t know how to deal with him.
But I still wasn’t prepared for the next paragraph.
I have taken the only reasonable step in these circumstances, Angeline wrote, and my stomach sank even before I read the next words. The fact is, I have lost my chance to marry the only man I will ever love, and I see no point in begging Stepmama to be allowed home, only to listen to her recriminations for the next ten years. Therefore, I have eloped with Viscount Scarwood.
For the first time in my life I felt like swooning. It wasn’t shock that made my head swim, though. It was blazing fury. My fingers loosened on the letter as I fought to stay upright.
Frederick Carlyle seized the opportunity and snatched the letter from my hands.
“Wait!” I said. I reached for it—but his face had already turned the color of chalk as he read.
Too late to save him from the worst, then, or save Angeline from his full knowledge of the situation. I stood on tiptoe to read the last lines of the letter over his shoulder.
Before you even begin to criticize this decision, I know perfectly well that Scarwood has no intention of driving all the way to Gretna Green for a true marriage. His plan is certainly to ruin me quite as thoroughly as he has numerous other unfortunate young ladies. However, he has never yet dealt with a witch, and he shall find this elopement to be quite unlike all his earlier adventures. My one consolation is the knowledge that, even if I have lost all chance of love for myself, I can at least save other innocent young ladies from damage at his hands. Once we are married, his future career shall be very different, and as for myself—there was another telltale ink splotch—at least Stepmama may be pleased that I married a wealthy suitor after all. Perhaps I shall even learn not to be too unhappy, in time.
If you ever desire my forgiveness for your earlier interference, do not tell Stepmama what I have done until it is far too late to disguise matters. Nothing can be achieved by it except even more scandal and gossip—of which our family has experienced more than enough already.
Yrs. affec:ly,
Angeline
I clenched my fingers around the muslin skirts of my dress and wished they were Angeline’s shoulders. I would have given a great deal, at that moment, to shake the life out of her.
Mr. Carlyle didn’t look up to shaking anybody. He looked as if he had been turned into a statue.
“Well, you were right,” I said. “Angeline has been a fool. But if we want to—”
“No,” said Frederick Carlyle. His lips barely moved to form the word; he was still rigid with shock, staring sightlessly in the dir
ection of the letter. “No, not Angeline, after all. It was I who was the fool. I should have known—should have understood immediately when I saw her that something was amiss, not what it seemed. I should have trusted her.” His fingers clenched around the letter with sudden violence, crumpling it. “If I hadn’t been such a fool—if I hadn’t driven her away, refused to listen to her explanations, snubbed her in the worst possible manner, only because I was stupidly jealous and blind with it—”
“Well …”
“This is my fault,” he said. “Entirely my fault. What else could she think, after I’d said such things to her? After I’d walked away from her when she begged me to listen? After—good God!” He stalked away to pound one clenched fist against the mantelpiece.
I said, “If you hurt your hand by pounding it like that, you won’t be able to hit Viscount Scarwood.”
He froze for a moment. Then he let out a short laugh and turned back to me. “A good point.” His shoulders relaxed, but his expression was deathly grim. “There’s no time for self-recriminations, is there? If it’s been four hours since she left Bath—”
“At least four hours, according to her letter,” I said. “So if he really is taking her north, toward Scotland and Gretna Green—”
“Then they’ll be over halfway to Gloucester by now. But if he’s actually driving her somewhere quite different …” His blue eyes looked unnaturally bright as he refolded the letter and slipped it into an inner pocket of his coat. “You have to help me, Kat.”
“Of course I will. If we set out now and question all the coaching inns we pass, to see if Scarwood stopped at any of them—”
“No,” he said. “I mean with magic.”
“Oh.” I stared at him. Oh. My chest suddenly felt far too large and echoingly empty. I said, “The problem is—”
“I’ve never asked for the details of what you do,” Mr. Carlyle said, “and Angeline never told me. But I know you have powers—you broke Angeline’s spell over me, didn’t you? And you’ve done other magic, I know, although I never asked to understand it.”
“Yes, but—”
He dropped to his knees in front of me. It was the most disconcerting thing that had happened yet. “Please, Kat,” he said. He took my hands in a strong grip as he gazed pleadingly up at me. His fingers were warm around mine and felt very strange. It was the first time any man outside our family had ever held my hands.
“I know all the dangers of practicing magic in Society,” he said. “Please believe that I would never ask you to do it if there was any other choice. But Scarwood may have taken her anywhere. I might race my horses all night long and only find that I’d gone in the wrong direction. Angeline might be a hundred miles to the south of me by then, and I would be far too late to save her.”
“I know,” I said, and felt my stomach clench. “But the problem is—”
“All we need is a location spell,” he said. “Anything to find her, the way her letter found you.”
“I don’t know any spells like that,” I said. “Angeline kept Mama’s magic books. And even apart from that—”
“Something else, then. Anything!”
“I can’t!” I said. “You don’t understand. I can’t do any magic anymore!”
“What?” He leaned back, blinking. “What do you mean?”
“I—” I tried to wave one hand in a vague gesture, but his grip was too strong. “It’s too complicated to explain, but if I do any magic, we’ll all end up in even more trouble, and it’ll take away any chance of my helping Angeline at all. It’s too dangerous right now to even try.” I imagined Lord Ravenscroft and Lady Fotherington swooping down onto the inn together to perform the pacification ritual, and I fought back a shiver. I’d be no good to anyone after that. And what would happen to Mr. Gregson, if they discovered that he had lied to them for me on such an important matter?
“You won’t risk a bit of danger to help Angeline?” He dropped my hands and rose to his feet, frowning down at me. “You don’t sound like yourself. The Kat I know wouldn’t let any danger stop her from saving her sister.”
“I can’t!” I said wretchedly. “I’m sorry. But I will come with you to find her, and I’ll do everything I can to—”
The door swung open behind me. “Why—!” Stepmama’s voice broke off in a gasp.
It was nearly drowned out by a shriek of outrage from beside her. “Frederick! What in heaven’s name can be the meaning of this?”
Frederick Carlyle closed his eyes briefly, with a pained expression. “Good evening, Mama,” he said.
“What—what—?” Mrs. Carlyle looked like an agitated partridge, from the spray of dyed-blue feathers that burst out the top of her round bonnet to the way her arms wiggled helplessly at her sides as she looked back and forth between me and her son.
Stepmama’s own cheeks were flushed with temper, but her voice remained even. “Mr. Carlyle,” she said. “What a pleasant surprise. I’m sorry we weren’t all here to greet you, but for some reason, I wasn’t told of your arrival.”
“Ha!” Mrs. Carlyle said. “So you claim. A likely story! I can see the truth for myself. You’ve been encouraging them to meet secretly, my son and that—that—” She waved one plump arm in a gesture of contempt.
Stepmama sounded as if she were speaking through gritted teeth. “My elder stepdaughter is not even here in this inn at the moment, madam.”
Frederick Carlyle gave me a meaningful look. I winced.
I really can’t, I mouthed at him.
“You see? You see? She’s giving him messages from her sister, even now as we watch!” Mrs. Carlyle collapsed onto the closest couch, her monumental bosom heaving. “Such ingratitude, such wanton disrespect—my poor head—Frederick, you have made your own mother feel faint. My smelling salts—in my reticule—hurry!”
“I wish I could, Mama, but I must be on my way. Immediately.” He gave me another pointed look. “There is no time to be lost.”
“On your way? No time—what? What?” Mrs. Carlyle batted blue feathers out of her eyes as she gaped up at him from the couch. “What on earth are you babbling about?”
“I fear there is no time to explain. Mrs. Stephenson …” He bowed to Stepmama. “Miss Katherine …” His eyes met mine in a look of sizzling reproach. “I must take my leave of you, as you will not help me. Good-bye, Mama.”
“Don’t be absurd. You are not going anywhere until you have explained exactly what—Frederick? Frederick! Come back here at once!”
The parlor door closed behind him.
I clenched my hands into fists so tight, pain shot up my arms. I couldn’t have done what he’d asked. I couldn’t.
I wanted to hit something. Or, even worse, to cry.
Mrs. Carlyle glowered at Stepmama. “From the moment your family came into corrupting contact with my good, obedient son—”
“Really, madam,” Stepmama began. I recognized the sound of her voice. Her temper was about to snap.
“May I be excused?” I said.
Stepmama waved one irritated hand. “Go to your room, Kat. Wait for me there—I want to talk to you as soon as I’m finished here.” Her voice hardened. “But as far as ‘corrupting influences’ …”
I ducked out of the room as quickly as I could. The sound of Mrs. Carlyle’s shriek of fury followed me up the dark, narrow stairs. I was breathing hard. Jumbled phrases from Angeline’s letter and Frederick Carlyle’s reproach mingled in my head.
You won’t go racing into trouble …
You won’t risk a little danger … ?
“I can’t,” I whispered. “I can’t, I can’t.”
I’d promised Mr. Gregson. More than that, every Guardian in the city would be on the lookout for my magical signature—especially the two I feared most.
I knew I was making the sensible decision, the only decision I could make. So why did it feel so wrong?
Halfway down the dingy corridor that led back to my bedroom, I came to a halt.
&nbs
p; I couldn’t do any magic—not until the mystery of the Baths was sorted out and I was proven innocent. But there was something I could do to speed that part up, at least. And I had to do something right now, or I would burst.
I knocked on Charles’s door. There was no answer. I rolled my eyes at the closed door. He was sound asleep, no doubt—Charles could sleep at any time of day, if he was bored enough. I banged on the door as loudly as I could. There was still no answer.
If he’d snuck down to play cards in the inn’s tap-room … I hit the door as hard as I could, just in case.
The door swung open with the force of my knock. Clothes lay scattered across the room. His valises stood open, with half their contents spilling out, as if Charles had torn through them all, searching for something in particular. But my brother himself was nowhere to be seen.
Why would he need to hunt through his luggage only to play cards?
I stepped into the room, closing the door behind me. Something felt wrong. Something was missing. …
Aha. Clothes lay scattered across the room—but I couldn’t see his hat or his greatcoat. Charles hadn’t only left his room, he’d left the inn itself.
A sheet of writing paper lay on top of his bed, half hidden by a pile of socks. A letter. I snatched it up, feeling my heartbeat speed up uncomfortably.
I was starting to dread reading letters.
Stephenson, this letter read, in handwriting I’d never seen before. Ready for one last night of fun? Same place as before, as soon as you can. He’s ready to go for something really big tonight—I know you’ll be up for it, there’s a good fellow. Bring along something special to toss into the water for your part, and for God’s sake, man, don’t dawdle! You don’t want to miss the best night of your life, do you?
I let out a strangled groan and ran out the door.
Twenty-Four
I couldn’t use Mama’s spell to disguise myself this time, or use my own Guardian powers for invisibility. My pelisse was striped blue and white, and it would stand out with horrible clarity in the lights of the city at night. I cursed Charles, Angeline, and Lord Ravenscroft with indiscriminate fervor as I hurried down the inn’s narrow stairway.
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