A Matter of Magic (56 page)

“He’s wealthy, he’s well-connected, and he’s the sort that will be so preoccupied with his little magical projects that he won’t notice or care what his wife does,” Letitia answered promptly. “I’d thought of that Russian Prince Durmontov for a while, but he’s a bit too wide awake to suit me, and he’s the sort everyone watches. Merrill isn’t so prominent that the old cats will scrutinize every step his wife takes. That ward of his will have a harder time than she thinks once she’s married to Lord Franton.”

“Is that settled?” Lord Starnes said, momentarily distracted. “Because I haven’t seen him here tonight, and I’ve got a bet in the book at White’s. . . .”

“No, it’s not settled and he isn’t here, but anyone can see which way the wind is blowing,” Letitia said. “And everyone can also see you making a cake of yourself every time I’m at a party. I wish you wouldn’t.”

“But Letitia, I love you!” Lord Starnes said desperately.

“Yes, you’ve said so often enough,” Letitia said. “About once a month for the past three years, ever since I turned fifteen. And you’re quite
personable, and very amusing when you aren’t pouring your heart out at my feet, and I do like you. But one can’t live on love and wit, my dear. Find yourself an heiress, and let me be.”

“You are entirely heartless.”

“No, merely practical. And if you cannot behave yourself in company, I do not wish to see you again. Do I make myself clear, Lord Starnes?”

“Abundantly.”

“Then I give you good evening.” There was a rustle of skirts and Kim shrank back into the curtains as the balcony door opened. To her relief, Letitia Tarnower swept out into the ballroom without glancing around. Kim gave her a moment to get clear, then slipped around the far edge of the silk screen. She’d heard all there was to hear, and Lord Starnes would be leaving the balcony, too, in another minute.

Kim’s mind was in considerable turmoil. Mairelon had been quite right; Letitia Tarnower was not the widgeon she pretended to be. Indeed, if she had settled on anyone other than Mairelon as a prospective husband, Kim would have been more than a little sympathetic to her position.
If it was anyone but Mairelon
. . . . And
was
everyone expecting the marquis to make an offer of marriage for Kim?

The rest of the evening seemed to drag on forever. Kim was even more distracted and preoccupied than before, until she noticed Lady Souftmore and Mrs. Lowe exchanging significant looks. After that, she exerted herself to pay attention, but though the gentlemen redoubled their efforts to be charming, she was considerably relieved when the time came to leave at last.

When they arrived back at Grosvenor Square, Kim lingered in the hall for a moment to charge the footman not to let Mairelon out of the house next morning until he had spoken with her. She still wasn’t sure what she was going to tell him, or what good it might do if she did.
At least maybe it’ll distract him some.

As she reached the top of the first flight of stairs, she saw a gleam of light coming from the half-open library door. Curious, she stepped forward and peered around the door.

The fire had died to embers; the light she had seen came from a single candle, burned down to barely an inch above the socket, which stood
near the far end of the library table. Next to the candle stood a cut-glass brandy decanter, over half empty. Slumped in the chair at the end of the table, cradling a glass in both hands, was Mairelon. His dark hair looked as if he had run his hands through it several times, and there were shadows like bruises under his eyes.
He looks as if he hasn’t slept in a week
, Kim thought, and unconsciously took another step forward.

The movement attracted Mairelon’s attention, and he looked up. He frowned for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts from somewhere very far away, and then said, “Ah, Kim! Come in and toast your good fortune.” His voice had an unfamiliar, almost mocking edge to it.

“My good fortune?” Kim stepped into the room and studied Mairelon for a moment. “You’re foxed,” she said in mild surprise. She’d never seen Mairelon even a bit on the go before, not for real, though she’d seen him play the part once or twice.

“I’m not foxed yet,” Mairelon said. “The decanter isn’t empty. There’s another glass somewhere; sit down and join me.”

Uncertainly, Kim pulled up another chair and sat down on his right. Mairelon blinked owlishly at her. “Don’t look so glum,” he said, the mocking edge strong in his voice. “You should be celebrating. Though I’ll grant you, the prospect of congratulating Aunt Agatha on her perspicacity might take some of the satisfaction out of it.”

“You
are
foxed,” Kim said. “What are you on about?”

Mairelon raised his eyebrows. “Dear me, don’t you know?”

“No, I don’t.” Kim clenched both hands in her lap to hold in her temper.

Mairelon’s eyes narrowed and he studied her for a moment; then he sat back, his mouth twisted in a self-mocking smile. “Ah. Obviously I was mistaken.”

“Mairelon,”
Kim said, exasperated. “You’re just as annoying foxed as you are sober. Mistaken about what? What are you talking about?”

“Lord Franton, Marquis of Harsfeld, visited me earlier today,” Mairelon said. “He asked my permission to pay his addresses to you.”

“He—You mean that Tarnower chit was
right
? He’s going to make me an
offer
?”

“I believe that is what I just said.” Mairelon sank down in his chair,
studying his brandy glass. “He seemed to have no doubt about your answer.”

“He wouldn’t,” Kim said in disgust. “Of all the sap skulled things to do! I don’t want to marry a toff, and certainly not a marquis!”

Abruptly, Mairelon’s eyes focused on her with alarming intensity. “You don’t?”

“Well, I don’t have anything against marquises in general,” Kim said, considering. “But I don’t want to marry Lord Franton.”

“Why not?” Mairelon said, still with the same intense focus. “He’s rich, he’s titled, he’s nearer your age than . . . He’s near your age. And Aunt Agatha was quite right—you couldn’t be better established than to marry a marquis.”

Kim shook her head, searching for words. “If all I wanted was money . . . Lord Franton’s nice enough, but . . .”

“You’re not still worried about being socially acceptable, are you?” The edge was back in Mairelon’s voice. “Not after the triumphs of the past week!”

“Triumphs!” Kim snorted. “I’m a novelty, like a performing bear, that’s all.”

Mairelon’s eyes dropped to his glass. In a completely colorless tone, he said, “Lord Franton doesn’t seem to think so.”

“Lord Franton ain’t got no sense,” Kim said flatly.

“I didn’t think him so utterly senseless as that,” Mairelon said, and an odd smile flickered over his lips.

“Well, you ain’t got no sense sometimes, neither,” Kim retorted. “Thinking I’d get leg-shackled to a marquis just because—If I’d of been that interested in money, I wouldn’t of worked so hard to stay out of the stews all those years.”

Mairelon blinked, plainly startled. “It’s not the same thing at all.”

“It ain’t?” Kim shook her head and shivered slightly. The brothels of Southwark had been among her worst nightmares since she had first learned of their existence when she was five or six. “Marrying a marquis because he’s rich and titled would be more comfortable and more permanent than working Vauxhall or Drury Lane, but I can’t see that there’s much other difference.”

“Ah. I had never considered it in that light.” Mairelon raised his glass and drank, then set it too carefully on the table.

“Jenny Correy didn’t marry Tom because he was well off, because he wasn’t, then,” Kim went on, half to herself. “And a lot of folks said she was throwing herself away on him, when she could have had Barnabas Totten, who’s got his own pub, or Henry Miller down at the shipyard. But Jenny and Tom are a lot happier than the ones who picked the best catch. They . . . like each other, and they get on well. Most of the time. More than anybody else I know, anyway.”

“I am justly chastened,” Mairelon said, sounding more like himself. “Is there, perhaps, some other gentleman among your suitors whose addresses you
would
welcome? The marquis gave me to understand that he knew he was being a bit hasty, but he was desirous of, er, beating the competition to the gate.”

“You mean he thinks I’m going to get
more
offers?” Kim said, appalled.

“He doesn’t seem to be the only one who thinks so,” Mairelon said. “Aunt Agatha mentioned it to me yesterday afternoon.
Is
there anyone, or would you prefer that I turn the lot of them away?”

Kim shook her head. “There isn’t anyone.”

Except you.

The revelation was so blindingly sudden that the words almost slipped out, and she had to bite her tongue and look away.
And you thought Lord Franton hadn’t got any sense
, she castigated herself. But sense had nothing to do with it. She swallowed hard, and tears stung her eyelids. If a beauty like Letitia Tarnower couldn’t interest Mairelon, and a brilliant wizard like Renée D’Auber hadn’t attracted him in all the years they’d known one another, what chance did she, Kim, have?

“Kim. . . .” There was a long pause, and then Mairelon said in an altered tone, “You know, I believe you are right; I
have
had a little too much of this brandy.”

With a lightness she did not feel, Kim replied, “If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t have been so nattered about Lord Franton. Silly clunch.”

“Is that remark meant for me, or for Franton?” Mairelon said. “Never mind. If anyone else wishes to propose to you, I shall send him away, but I’m afraid you’ll have to deal with the marquis yourself.”

“I don’t—” A prickle swept across her shoulder blades, and she stiffened and broke off in mid-sentence. After a moment, she realized that she had cocked her head as if she were listening for something, which was ridiculous—you couldn’t hear magic. “Something just touched the house-ward,” she told Mairelon. “It’s still up, but—” Another twinge interrupted her. “There it goes again.”

“A probing spell?” Mairelon said urgently. “Or a steady pressure?”

“Not steady,” Kim answered. “Not really like a probe, either, at least, not like the ones your mother showed me. More like”—she groped for the image—“like somebody throwing a rock through a window and running away.”

“Probably nothing that needs immediate attention, then,” Mairelon said. “I hope it didn’t wake Mother.”

Kim nodded. In the silence that followed, they heard a loud creak from the lower stairway. Immediately, Mairelon leaned forward and pinched out the candle. In the dim glow from the dying embers of the fire, he rose and made his way carefully to the library door, where he flattened himself against the wall. After a moment’s thought, Kim also stood. Taking care not to make any noise, she slipped toward the bookshelves behind the door. There was nothing she could do about the pallor of her lilac gown, but at least she would be out of the line of sight of anyone entering the room.

There was another creak, louder and nearer, and then the library door swung wide and a dark figure entered. Mairelon waited until the man had passed him, then kicked the door shut and jumped. The two shapes went down with a thump. Kim snatched up a vase, then hesitated, unable to tell which figure to brain with it.

“I have him,” Mairelon’s voice said a moment later. “If you’d be good enough to manage the lights, Kim? I’m a bit occupied at the moment.”

“Fiat lux,”
Kim said hastily, and a rather wavery ball of light appeared above the two combatants. She frowned and concentrated more carefully, and the light steadied.

“Well, well,” Mairelon said. “Lord Gideon Starnes. To what do we owe the pleasure of this unusual call, my lord?”

Lord Starnes stared at Mairelon for a moment, and then all of the tension left his body and he sagged toward the floor. “It
would
be you,” he said bitterly, and his words slurred very slightly as he spoke. “I suppose now you’ll tell her, and I’ll have no chance at all.”

“I should be more concerned about my telling the Runners, if I were you,” Mairelon said.

“I haven’t done anything,” Lord Starnes said with as much dignity as he could manage while lying on his back with Mairelon half-kneeling on top of him.

“Breaking into a house is something,” Kim pointed out. “Even if you aren’t very good at it.”

“And especially when it’s the second time,” Mairelon said.

Lord Starnes jerked. “How did you—It wasn’t me!”

“Looby,” Kim said. “If we hadn’t guessed before, we’d know now.” Holding the light spell steady, she crossed to the table and relit the candle, then fetched two more from the candlebox and lit them as well. It looked as if this was going to take a while, and she wasn’t sure how long she could keep the spell going, especially if Lord Starnes was going to start saying things interesting enough to distract her.

“Very good, Kim,” Mairelon said when she finished with the candles and let the light spell fade. “Now, Lord Starnes, I should dislike having to summon the Watch or lay information against you in Bow Street—but I shouldn’t dislike it enough to keep me from doing it. You had better explain.”

“And hurry up, before the rest of the house gets here,” Kim advised.

“Oh, that won’t be a problem,” Mairelon said. “I made it quite clear that I didn’t want to be disturbed this evening.”

Kim frowned, but she couldn’t ask him anything in front of Lord
Starnes, even if Starnes was, as he appeared to be, considerably more foxed than Mairelon.

“Letitia will never have me now,” Lord Starnes said miserably at that moment, drawing Mairelon’s attention back to him.

“Letitia?” Mairelon frowned. “Not the Tarnower chit? What has she got to do with you breaking into Andrew’s library?”

“She told him to sheer off, tonight at Lady Souftmore’s rout,” Kim said. “She’s hanging out for a rich husband, and he wouldn’t be one.”

Mairelon gave her an inquiring look.

“They were talking out on the balcony and I . . . happened to overhear,” Kim said. “I was going to tell you, but we got to discussing other things.”