A Lady And Her Magic (13 page)

Sophia wiped a spider’s web from her path with gentle fingers. Spiders were cantankerous beasts. They spent hours working on their hunting nets and didn’t appreciate it a bit when careless humans destroyed their work. But she had to check the attic. If she was a little girl, it’s where she would hide. Sophia swiped at her brow with her forearm as she climbed the dark steps. She held a candle aloft to lighten the gloom, but it simply made the shadows larger and more ominous. Night was about to fall, and Lady Anne was nowhere to be found.

She stepped into the large attic, its slanted roof forcing her to bend at the waist until she was fully in the room. She stretched and looked about. There were stacks of old furniture—chairs, tables, settees, old bed frames. All discarded and left alone. Some were covered with linen bedclothes. But most had withstood the ravages of time despite the dust and grime that coated their surfaces. There were too many places to hide in such a large room. If Anne had decided to hide in the shadows of the great furniture pile, no one would ever find her.

Sophia shoved a linen covering from a pile of furniture, then tugged the covering off another with the flick of her wrist. She would leave no cloth unfurled. No corner unsearched. But then she tugged the covers off a small settee. Standing directly in the middle of the settee was a portrait. Sophia startled for a moment because the woman in the portrait looked so very much like Anne. She held the candle closer and let the shadows dance upon the canvas. It must be Anne’s mother.

She didn’t even know the woman’s name. It wasn’t spoken in the household. Not by Ashley, not by Anne, not by the servants, and not by anyone else. It was as though the memory of her had died along with her. Like she’d never existed. But she had. The portrait was proof of it. At the bottom of the portrait was a small brass plate that read, “Lady Diana Trimble, Duchess of Robinsworth.”

“Why were you discarded, Your Grace?” Sophia said, her voice trembling a little as she reached into her reticule and withdrew a small vial of shimmering dust. She held it out in front of the painting. Should she do it? It could be disastrous. What if the portrait refused to return to sleep? Everyone knew the duchess had been an obstinate sort. Should she wake the painting to find the truth behind the duchess’s death? Only the duchess could tell her story and tell it correctly. But what if the duchess refused to return to sleep?

A haughty smirk graced the lips of the duchess in the painting, as though she knew secrets no one else knew. What Sophia wouldn’t give to unlock those secrets. But there simply wasn’t time. Anne must be found. She threw the coverlet back over the painting and began to search the recesses of the room for the little girl.

It wasn’t until she’d searched every inch of the room that Sophia stopped, sighed heavily, and wiped her brow again. Anne wasn’t in this room. And Sophia had wasted valuable time searching it from top to bottom. Where on earth could the girl be?

It was then that she remembered Anne’s exuberance at the idea of visiting the village. Would the child have gone on her own? Would she so desperately want to leave the confines of the Hall? She probably would.

Sophia raced down the stairs, shaking the dust from her skirts as she went. She met Marcus at the bottom of the stairs. “Has she been found yet?”

“Not yet. The duke is beside himself. Perhaps you should go to him, Soph,” he said reluctantly.

“I think I know where she is,” Sophia said, trying to catch her breath. “Follow me.”

***

Ashley barked orders from the foyer of the manor, pointing this way and that, and snapping at all those who stopped to inform Wilkins about the areas they’d searched. The maids and footmen had been dispatched along with the rest of the household, and even the dowager duchesses, both the younger and the older, were searching, along with the guests of the house party. Anne’s name reverberated off the walls of the Duke’s ancestral home and for the first time ever, Ashley wished he lived in a small cottage in the middle of town. Yet despite all the searching, the child had not been found.

A shiver crept up Ashley’s spine. What if they couldn’t find her? What if she was injured? What if someone had taken her? Fear squeezed at his heart, and Ashley realized he wasn’t concerned at all with her behavior or her surliness or her poor attitude; he simply wanted her. He wanted to hold his daughter and assure himself that she was all right.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sophia Thorne update Wilkins on the areas she’d searched. The butler placed a large mark over the area she’d indicated on the quickly drawn map, and then she turned to continue searching. But instead of going back toward the mazes and corridors that were the Hall, she made for the front door. And she took her brother with her. Where on earth was she going?

Ashley followed them at a discreet distance as they went out the front door, their heads pressed closely together. They continued down the steps, and at the bottom, Sophia’s maid waited with two horses. They pranced and danced in their places, tugging at their leads until Mr. Thorne boosted Sophia up into her saddle and climbed upon his own trusty mount. Then with a gentle kick and an easy touch, they sped through the gates toward the village. Ashley searched the dim light of twilight, but the maid had vanished as quickly as she’d arrived. He scratched his head. Then he turned toward the door and bellowed, “Someone get me a mount.”

***

“Just where are we going, Soph?” Marcus asked.

“To get Lady Anne,” Sophia said, not taking her eyes from the road. Her horse was sure-footed, but even her filly couldn’t predict how rutted the road would be. “I should have gotten a lantern.”

But then Marcus reached into his inner pocket and retrieved some pixie dust. Pixie dust was a glorified name for it. It was actually firefly bait. They loved the sugary crystals that were coated in fae magic. He tossed a light sampling of them into their horses’s manes. Within moments, hundreds of fireflies surrounded them, lighting their way.

He shrugged at Sophia, a look of chagrin on his face. “For the horses,” he said lightly.

“You always were afraid of the dark,” she teased.

He rolled his eyes at her. “Pray tell me what has you in such a hurry to go to the village?”

“I think that’s where Lady Anne has gone.”

“What indicated that to you?”

“Intuition,” she explained with a breezy wave of her hand.

“Just how deeply are you involved with this family, Soph?” he asked, a troubled look on his face.

“Deeply enough,” she said quietly. Then she slowed her mount as they approached the village. The fireflies dispersed almost as quickly as they’d arrived. A boy ran out of the stables and took their leads, and one helped Sophia to dismount as Marcus did the same.

“There’s not enough magic in the world to help you locate that child,” Marcus warned.

But then Sophia heard it. She heard a series of taunts and leering jeers. And a shrill shriek as a small girl child screamed as though tormented by the devil himself. Sophia’s heart stopped beating for a moment. Then she ran toward the sound.

When she turned the corner into a dark alleyway, she found Lady Anne standing with her back to a rubbish pile. Before her stood four taunting, teasing boys, each brandishing weapons of their own making. None of them would allow Anne to pass.

Anne stomped her foot and screamed in her most unladylike voice as tears streamed down her reddened cheeks. “My father will make you pay. All of you.”

One boy snorted loudly. “Your father the murderer? What will he do? Kill us?”

Another boy chimed in with a crude jest. “He’ll throw us from the tower of the castle, the same way he did his duchess.”

Anne’s eyes grew round. “He did no such thing!” Tears poured down her cheeks. “My father didn’t kill anyone.”

“Your father killed your mother. But since he’s a duke, he didn’t have to pay for it. He should have been hanged.” The other boys agreed with even louder jests.

“Take it back!” Anne yelled, barely able to get the words out over her tears.

Sophia approached on slow feet, not daring to make a sound. But Anne saw her and made a move toward her. Sophia held up her hand to stop her. With her other hand, she reached into her reticule and drew forth a vial of shimmery dust.

“Don’t, Soph,” Marcus warned, reaching for the vial, but Sophia had already poured the dust in her palm, and with one heavy breath, she blew it into the air. The boys didn’t even know she was there behind them, until she said the words:

“The truth be too difficult to bear,

yet with this spell you will wear,

the truth as though it were a cloak,

giving meaning to the words you spoke.”

The dust shimmered in the air like a great glittery ball until it formed over the heads of each of the boys. Above each boy, the particles glimmered and formed a moving picture, a memory of each boy’s weakness.

“Pay close attention, Anne,” Sophia instructed. The boys froze, each looking at the great bubbles of shimmering dust with fear and trepidation. Then the dust began to take shape. “Each of us has insecurities, and it’s the most insecure of us all who would tease and torment a girl you don’t even know.” The dust painted a portrait, yet the pieces of the portrait moved like living, breathing people in the shimmering lights above the boys’ heads.

The biggest boy’s portrait was of himself, cowering in a cupboard as a man slapped a woman across her face. The woman’s eyes shone with tears, as did the boy’s. It was a scene the boy saw often at home perhaps. He ducked his head in shame. Then Sophia poked a finger into his bubble and it burst like shooting sparks. He kicked at a stone at his feet, confusion on his face. But she sensed something awakening in him as well.

The other boys had similar thoughts in their heads, but of different proportions. One had a drunken father who spent more time with the bottle than he did his family. And another had a father who spent more time with his mistress and their children than he did his wife and theirs. And another was born on the wrong side of the blanket, yet no one knew.

“I’ll not ask you to apologize, but I’ll ask you not to condemn a girl for something you know nothing of, for we all have secrets, do we not?” Sophia asked in her most stern voice.

“Yes, miss,” the boys chimed as one.

Sophia swirled her finger in the air, making all the images disappear and, with them, the dust. Along with that went the memory of what each boy had just seen, except for the boy’s own self-portrait. The glittering images would remind each of them that their own truths could easily be distorted.

“Apologize,” Sophia ordered.

“I’m sorry,” they all chimed at once.

“You may go,” Sophia said as she stepped to the side to let the boys pass. But they took two steps and stopped, their eyes growing wide.

“Your Grace,” the oldest boy said as he dropped into a clumsy bow. The other boys followed suit. The Duke of Robinsworth stepped to the side and they all scurried past him.

“Ashley,” Sophia began. The duke held up one finger to shush her. He was one with his ducal greatness in that moment, commanding and dominant. It was the first time he’d ever looked dangerous to her. Sophia bit her lip to keep from speaking. He motioned to Anne and she ran forward. Then he caught her up in his arms and turned away without a word, murmuring soft words to her.

“How much did he see?” Sophia asked softly of Marcus.

“All of it, I’m afraid.”

Ashley cradled his sleeping daughter’s head on his shoulder as he dismounted. He could have passed her off to the groom who met him, but he would have to give her up to do so. He would have to lose the warmth that was her and give it to someone else, and he wasn’t prepared to do so. Not when he’d just found her.

His mind was a muddle of thoughts. He must be a bacon-brained idiot to believe what he’d just seen was real. He’d watched as Sophia, his Sophia, blew some sparks into the air. Then, with a simple command, she’d made them come to life. It was like watching glimmery, shiny actors upon a stage. Yet they were depictions of what was in the children’s heads. Or thoughts she was putting into their heads. He couldn’t tell which. He must be bound for Bedlam. There was no way that what he’d seen could have been real. Maybe it was a manifestation of his worried mind.

Anne snorted and drooled upon his shoulder as he walked up the steps of the Hall. He glanced down at her. Her face was streaked with dirty tear tracks, and her hair was a scraggly mess. She desperately needed a wash and a pretty, clean dress.

Ashley walked through the door and was immediately accosted by the sight of his mother arguing with Wilkins. Arguing. A duchess and a butler barking at one another without a care for their positions or their consequence. Perhaps Ashley had slipped into some other realm where things weren’t as they were supposed to be. His mother he could understand. Wilkins did things to intentionally provoke her. But Sophia… He didn’t understand what had just happened with Sophia at all.

“I will have the two of you thrown into the dungeons if you don’t stop that bickering.” The duchess’s mouth dropped open. “Together,” he barked. “I will force the two of you to share a space not more than eight paces wide until you learn to get along.” His mother opened her mouth to contradict him, but then she saw Anne there on his shoulder.

“You found her!” she cried, as her eyes filled with tears. His mother could provoke tears at will, but perhaps these were genuine? It was impossible to tell. “Is she all right?”

“A little dirty, but otherwise fine,” Ashley said. “Wilkins, call for a bath for her,” he instructed as he started for the stairs.

“Yes, Your Grace,” the stoic older man said with a bow.

“
Yes, Your Grace
,” his mother mimicked in a singsong voice. “Why does he get ‘Yes, Your Grace’ while I get no respect at all?” She pointed a finger at the butler and jabbed it into his chest.

Wilkins grabbed the offending finger and opened his mouth to snipe back, but Ashley interjected, “The dungeons, I vow.”

They both pursed their lips tightly together and regarded one another with annoyed expressions. The duchess jerked her hand from the butler’s grip, and Wilkins colored slightly to find that he’d still been holding it.

“The bath?” Ashley called behind him.

The duchess bustled up the stairs toward him and held out her arms. “Let me take her. I’ll see to her bath and put her to bed. The poor thing is exhausted.” Ashley reluctantly handed her over. His mother had never shown a spark of maternal kindness toward Anne. He feared rebuking her for the mere fact that she might never offer again. He eased Anne into her arms. And smiled as she nestled into his mother’s warm grasp.

Ashley had several matters to attend to. First, there was a governess who’d allowed Anne to run away. Then, there was the matter of Sophia and the nonsensical happenings with her. Lastly, but not least, he had to find Finn. Finn had a head for riddles and finding lost truths. He’d wanted to research Sophia Thorne since he’d met her. Ashley would finally let him.

A startled maid jumped back against the wall as he stormed past in the corridor. He didn’t slow his stride.

“Wilkins!” he called as he stormed through the door to his study.

The servant appeared within moments.

“Find Lord Phineas and send him to me. And find Miss Thorne and send her to me as well.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Wilkins said with a nod and he slipped soundlessly out the door.

Ashley sat back and rubbed the bridge of his sore nose. Damn, but that did hurt. He tried to recount the events of the evening. He’d made an offer of marriage to Sophia Thorne. Then his daughter had run away. Then he’d witnessed some unbelievable act that was too ludicrous to be explained in any rational manner. He rubbed across his nose again without any thought and grimaced. That bloody well hurt, by God.

A moment later, Finn strode into the room. “You bellowed?” he said, his voice droll and lifeless as he dropped into a chair across from Ashley.

“I did not bellow,” Ashley groused.

“I dare to differ, Robin,” Finn contradicted. “I happen to have been bellowed at enough that I can tell a bellow from a friendly call.”

“I’ll be friendly with you later. Good God, you’d think I were a bit o’ muslin you wanted to coerce into spending time with you. I’m not. I’m the bloody Duke of Robinsworth, for God’s sake.” His voice slashed like a whip across the room. A whip that moved too quickly for him to call it back. He reached for his nose in frustration and bit out a curse when it hurt.

Finn’s eyes opened wide. “Well, by God, Robin, it’s about time.” His brother began to clap his hands in a very sarcastic manner.

“About time for what?” Ashley asked, air escaping him like from a great big balloon when he sighed.

“You’ve worn the willow long enough. About time you found your stones and began to order people about again! It’s fabulous.” Finn jumped to his feet. “Bloody well brilliant.” Then he narrowed his eyes at Ashley. “Does this have anything to do with Miss Thorne?” Then he swiped at the air with his hand as though wiping his comments away. “Never mind, it’s not important. I hear you found Anne.”

“I did.”

“Where was she?”

“In the village, of all places,” Ashley said. He wouldn’t tell Finn about the odd circumstances he’d encountered when he found her. Finn would never believe him, anyway. “She was being teased by some of the lower orders.”

“She wasn’t harmed, was she?” Finn’s sandy-colored brows drew together with concern.

“Not harmed, but she was rather frightened.” Ashley took a deep breath and regarded his brother.

“Why do I feel like you need to tell me something?” He reached for his own nose. “Do I have snot on my nose?” He swiped at his upper lip.

“Shut it,” Ashley ground out, but he couldn’t stop the grin that pulled at his lips. Finally, he admitted, “I need your help.”

“With?” Finn suddenly looked serious.

“Miss Thorne.” That was all he said. Then he met Finn’s gaze, which danced with humor. Blast his hide. He balled up a piece of parchment on his desk and threw it at his brother’s thick head. “Just what do you find so amusing?”

“My big brother, the dangerous Duke of Robinsworth, needs help getting a chit into his bed?”

“Not into my bed, you idiot.” Ashley swore beneath his breath. He could get her into his bed all by himself. Couldn’t he? It wasn’t important. “You offered to research her past. I’d like to take you up on your offer.”

Finn sat forward with his elbows on his knees. Ashley had his full attention.

“I want to know everything you can find out. About her, her brother, Marcus, and even her grandmother.”

“Answer one question for me,” Finn said with a grin. “Are you in love with her?”

Was he? He’d been fairly certain he was, until tonight. Now he didn’t know what to think. “Just put your snout to the ground and dig up whatever you can.”

“Only Miss Thorne is allowed to compare me to a dog,” Finn said.

“Why is Miss Thorne allowed to do so?”

A lopsided grin crossed Finn’s face. “Because she’s much prettier than you are.”

A cough sounded from the doorway. Ashley looked up to find Wilkins standing at attention. “Don’t cough up any vital organs, Wilkins. Just speak.”

The butler looked more than perturbed at Ashley’s comment, which was almost amusing. “I have never ‘coughed up any vital organs,’ Your Grace. Nor would I.” He raised his nose in the air.

“Of course not. It would be much too messy,” Finn tossed out.

“Quite,” Wilkins replied. Then he cleared his throat. And grimaced at Finn’s grin. The man would probably never cough again. “You asked me to send Miss Thorne to you.”

Ashley raised a brow in encouragement and rolled his hand in the air. “And?”

“I’m afraid that would be impossible, Your Grace.”

Ashley jumped to his feet. “Has she refused to see me?” He started for the door. By God, she would see him. How dare she refuse him? A little part of his heart began to ache at the very thought of her not wanting to see him. Blast her.

Finn grabbed his shoulder. “Wait, Robin,” he said quietly.

“I cannot bring her to you because she is not in residence.” Wilkins looked decidedly uncomfortable.

“Not in residence?” Ashley knew he probably sounded like a dolt, but he didn’t understand.

“Not in residence,” the butler repeated. “She has left. And she took her grandmother and Mr. Thorne with her.” So, she’d gone and taken her whole family. What a dreadful turn of events.

“Their belongings?” Ashley asked.

“Gone, Your Grace.”

“Their horses?”

“Gone, Your Grace.”

The only woman who’d stirred anything within him in what seemed like ages?
Gone, Your Grace.
Ashley rubbed at his nose again and swore profusely.

“One would think you’d learn that it hurts to rub your nose when someone has punched it. Leave it alone for at least a fortnight,” Finn said.

Ashley arched a brow at him. If anyone knew anything about brawling, it was his brother. “A fortnight, you say?”

“At least.”

“He’s correct, sir. Shall I pour you a whiskey to dull the pain?”

Did he want to drink the thoughts of her away? Not particularly. “That won’t be necessary.” He turned to Wilkins. “Thank you. If you hear of her whereabouts, please do let me know.”

Wilkins bowed quickly and slipped from the room.

“How deeply shall I dig?” Finn asked.

“To the other side of the known world if that’s what it takes,” Ashley said. He would find her. She would not disappear from his life. Not until he had some answers.

Finn squeezed Ashley’s shoulder gently. “You really care about the chit, don’t you? Or has she swindled you?”

“She’s not a chit,” Ashley grumbled.

Finn chuckled. “There’s my answer.”

“Do you need any funds?”

“I’m fairly plump in the pockets at the moment. I’ll send you a bill, should any exorbitant expenses arise.”

“You know where I live.”

“And I will find out where Miss Sophia Thorne lives as well.”

God, Ashley hoped he could.

***

Marcus would wear a hole in the Aubusson rug if he didn’t stop his incessant pacing. And his hair had seen better days. He’d run his hands through it in frustration to the point that Sophia was afraid he would rip it right from his head.

“How could you, Soph?” he groaned.

He’d asked the same question every hour on the hour since they’d arrived at the Slipper and Stocking, a tiny little inn they’d stumbled across when they’d left the Hall. When they’d left Ashley. And Anne. Sophia’s heart twisted within her chest. She’d left her charge. With the mission incomplete. She may as well clip her wings herself and present them to the Trusted Few on a silver salver. She’d just ruined any chance she’d had of saving them.

Marcus began to tick items off on his fingers. “One: Never share the existence of the fae. Two: Never use your magic to cause harm. Three—”

Sophia held up a finger to stop him. “That’s actually three and four. See, I know the Errors as well as you do, Marcus.” She jumped to her feet. “Do you think I’m an idiot?” She rarely raised her voice at her brother. But he was insinuating that this was avoidable. That any of it was avoidable. It wasn’t. Not a bit.

His voice softened. “Do I think you’re an idiot?” he asked. He shook his head. “I think you’re in love. That is Error Number Five.” He ran his hands through his hair again and stopped to yank ineffectually at the strands. “Three out of five Errors, Soph,” he growled. Then he flopped back onto the bed and covered his eyes with his forearm. “What am I going to do?” He raised his arm and looked up at her. “What if I can’t solve this for you?”

Sophia sighed. “Then they’ll take my wings.” She shrugged. There was nothing more to say. Then her eyes filled with tears. “When the moon is full, we’ll go back. I’ll throw myself upon their mercy.”

“They’ll turn you into a blasted house faerie, Soph,” he said. “No powers. The only bit of fae magic you’ll possess is intuition.”

“Nothing wrong with intuition, Mr. Thorne,” Margaret grumbled from in front of the wardrobe where she unpacked their belongings.

Marcus winced. “No offense intended, Margaret.”

“None taken. It’s a trying time,” she said breezily.

Sophia looked over at her grandmother, who sat knitting quietly in a rocking chair, completely unconcerned, apparently, with the state of affairs. Sophia dropped at her feet and laid her head on her grandmother’s knee. “Tell me the answer?” she asked softly.

Her grandmother gently pushed a curl from Sophia’s forehead and looked deeply into her eyes. “You’ll appreciate it more if you come to it on your own.”

“What if I never come to it?”

Her grandmother laughed, a rich sound that made Sophia’s heart feel lighter. “You’ll come to it. You are enough like your mother that you’ll do the right thing.”

That made Sophia pause. Her mother hadn’t done the right thing. “She was banished from our world.” Her grandmother suddenly refused to look her in the eye. “Wasn’t she?”

“She is no longer permitted in the land of the fae. If you want to know how that came about, you’ll have to ask your mother.”

Ask her mother? She didn’t even know where her mother was.

Just then, a harsh, incessant rapping noise began on the windowpane. “Better let him in,” Sophia grumbled.

Marcus crossed to the window and thrust open the pane, allowing Ronald to climb over the sill. The gnome landed on his feet and bowed in front of Marcus. “I bring a missive, Mr. Thorne.” Ronald always sounded very proper when Marcus was present. Not at all like he did when Marcus wasn’t in attendance. There was none of the wringing of hands or cryptic speeches.