Arcana (10 page)

Where is this?
I want to ask, but cannot. I am formless in this vision; I can only see what is before me with no other power over my environment.

The fox looks at me again, innate intelligence in its gaze.

The vision fades as quickly as it came.

A commotion by the stairs draws my attention, and I get to my feet just as my grandmother sweeps into my room, her eyes brighter than I’ve ever seen them.

“My dear, you must get dressed,” she says, even her words hurried.

My mind still transported to another place, I can only blink at her. What was that place? Was it in this realm or my mother’s? What is she trying to tell me?

“Katherine, for goodness sake, girl, did you not hear me?” my grandmother says. “Get dressed.”

Before I can ask why, she walks back into the hall and calls for my maid. When Mary enters and bobs a curtsy to my grandmother, she looks just as confused by Grandmama’s distressed look as I do.

“Yes, milady?” she asks, her thick eyebrows drawn inward.

“I need you to dress Katherine in her nicest day gown—perhaps the gold one.”

“Yes, milady.”

“Are we going out?” I try but fail to keep the exasperation from my voice.

“No, child. The earl has come to see you,” Grandmama says, matching my tone.

I freeze, and my stomach twists in surprise.

“I’d like her hair done in the same style as the night she first came,” she continues.

Mary efficiently secures my thick hair into a pompadour of which the Gibson Girl herself would be proud. She turns to my grandmother for approval.

“Yes, that’s it,” she says.

As Grandmama watches Mary help me into my dress and dictates every nuance of my look, I begin to feel more and more like a show pony groomed for a country parade.

“What would you have me say to him?” I ask, my tone sarcastic.

“Be sure to mention your father’s connection with his. Also, make sure he will be in attendance at your debut. Oh, and your brother’s connection to him through Oxford.”

“Speaking of Robert—”

“Mary, not the silver comb. Use the gold. There, see how well it complements her dress?”

I blow a strand of hair out of my eyes, and Grandmama narrows her eyes at me. She places her hand on my arm. “Lord Thornewood is paying you the highest honor by calling on you today. You must be above reproach.”

So many snide responses jump to the tip of my tongue, begging to be unleashed, but I force my lips into a closed-mouth smile instead. “Yes, Grandmama.”

I follow her downstairs to the parlor, thankful my irritation masks the shivery feeling in my stomach.

He waits by the window, his back to us. My anxiety intensifies as I gaze upon his perfectly tailored coat and riding breeches.

“Lord Thornewood,” my grandmother says, “how good of you to visit.”

He turns, and those dark eyes seek me out immediately. “I came to ask you to accompany me to the park this afternoon, Miss Sinclair.”

It is abominably rude for him to ignore my grandmother and address me instead, but the smile never leaves Grandmama’s face.

“It is the first time the weather has been agreeable,” he adds. “I thought we could go riding.”

“I would love to,” I say before I have even thought it through. I simply cannot resist any opportunity to get out of the house. It’s possible I’m joining a member of the Order for a ride in the park, but I would sell my soul for the chance to escape my grandmother for an hour.

He smiles as if he had no doubt I’d say yes. “I brought along one of my horses for you to ride. I’ve heard you enjoy more of a challenging mount.”

The smile overtakes my face. “This is a surprise, indeed. And a welcome diversion. I have been in need of a challenge for quite some time.”

His brows rise ever so slightly, and I shake my head inwardly at myself. Why does everything I say to this man come out coy?

“I am very glad to provide you with one. My groom has saddled the mare with a sidesaddle that I hope you will find comfortable.”

My excitement dims. A sidesaddle? Heavens, when was the last time I rode as a lady? How can I be expected to keep my balance with both legs on one side of the horse?

“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll change into something more appropriate,” I say.
And figure out how to do this without embarrassment.

“Katherine,” my grandmother says, “aren’t you forgetting something?”

I halt on my way out the door. Does she know of my admittedly scandalous behavior?

“Madame?”

“I have not given you permission to go,” she says, her face tight.

My cheeks flame red. I should have asked her first, but I can’t believe she’d call me out in front of Lord Thornewood. “My apologies, Grandmama. I’m afraid the excitement of the moment overtook me.”

Her face relaxes but her smile remains tight. “I understand, dear. Our schedule is open for the day, so you may go.”

“How generous of you,” Lord Thornewood drawls.

“My lord, the invitation is greatly appreciated,” she says, and I’m not sure if she deliberately mistook his tone or simply didn’t notice.

His eyes seek out mine. “It’s my pleasure.”

“Mary,” she calls, and my maid appears in the doorway. The poor girl must know to hover nearby should Grandmama need her—which is often. “Katherine will need assistance changing for a ride with Lord Thornewood.”

Mary curtsies. “Yes, mum.”

I start for the door, but my grandmother leans in close. “Perhaps the navy blue riding habit?”

Heavens, a riding habit, too? I have never understood why I must wear a skirt atop breeches instead of wearing them alone, which would be infinitely cooler and more comfortable. And combined with a shirt, jacket, cravat, top hat, and veil, it may be hours before I am ready. I nod in agreement, though, and follow Mary back to my room, gathering my energy for the day ahead. As unskilled as I am in riding sidesaddle, it will take a considerable amount of power to keep me from looking like I’ve never ridden this way a day in my life.

As promised, the mare is a challenge. Oh, she’s sweet-tempered enough, but very green. It seems as though she has very little training under the saddle, and I am certain the earl is testing me. Probably to see if I am nothing but a braggart.

I adjust my seat in the saddle to better balance the awkward way I am forced to ride. A pommel supports my right thigh, which sits slightly higher than my left leg. The majority of my weight is centered over the left side of the horse, which I know doesn’t help the mare’s balance either.

“Is the saddle comfortable?” Lord Thornewood asks as we guide our horses onto the well-worn path in Hyde Park.

“Yes, my lord, very comfortable.” I squeeze the reins when the mare tries again to break into a trot. Her frustration washes over me again and again. She wishes I would sit properly like every other rider or allow her to go faster than a walk. But she is sweet enough to fret I am about to slip off her back, for that is what it feels like to her.

“And the mare, you find her agreeable, as well?”

The mare in question tosses her head as I once again restrain her from trotting. “Yes, very agreeable.”

I risk a glance at him though I have been staring straight ahead this entire time, and he smirks at me. “You seem very tense, Miss Sinclair. Perhaps this mare was not the right choice for you?”

“Oh, no, my lord. I like her. She has spirit.”

He grins. “A good match for you then.”

I feel heat creep up my neck. I cannot tell if his comment is meant to be teasing or insulting. “I suppose you mean to say I am spirited as well. I only wonder if you join other gentlemen in thinking this is a serious character flaw in a lady.”

He guides his horse closer to mine until I can make out the flecks of amber in his dark eyes. “On the contrary,” he says in low tones that elicit a shiver from me, “I find a lady with a mind of her own intriguing.”

My inner temperature rises as I glance away from his captivating stare. “How refreshing,” I mumble.

His grin is back. “Shall we move to a faster gait? I’m sure this has become a tedious pace for you.”

“As you wish,” I say, and glance down at the mare’s long gray mane for a moment. The day is too overcast to provide me with much energy from the sun. I center myself, focusing on the stores of power I have bubbling just beneath the surface. When I release it, it tingles over my body as if I’ve submerged myself in a hot spring. I will need its energy to stay on this horse. I refuse to embarrass myself in front of Lord Thornewood. The warmth feeds every muscle in my body, strengthening them past normal human limits. I bind myself to the saddle, so the mare and I are more like one being than separate horse and rider.

I know it works when the mare’s ears shoot back, and emotions of surprise replace her earlier frustration.

Lord Thornewood’s bay gelding transitions into a smooth canter, and I ask my mare to do the same. She responds instantly, and I let the tense muscles in my neck and shoulders relax. My body moves with her, and she relaxes, too.

I shoot him a sly grin. “Care to race?”

He gives me a look of surprise but quickly recovers. “How can I ignore such a challenge? Where to?”

“The bridge?”

He gives one short nod. “Ladies first. You’ll need a head start.”

I let out a very unladylike snort and ask my mare to gallop. She surges forward, and even though I know I will pay for the amount of energy it takes to keep me in the saddle, I cannot keep the smile from my face.

It isn’t long before the earl’s horse and mine are neck and neck, and I shake out the reins to encourage her to take longer strides. A bead of sweat slips down my spine beneath my warm riding jacket despite the cool weather. As my mother always taught me, arcana has its limits. Anything that enhances my abilities as a mortal drains energy faster than small acts of arcana, like small manipulations of nature or the enchantment of my music. The more I use this type of power to stay in the saddle, the more it draws from my life energy. When it becomes more difficult to draw a breath, I know I’m approaching my limit, but I’m having too much fun to slow.

His horse overtakes mine at the last second, and I pull my mare to a halt beside the river.

“Good race,” he says with an almost boyish grin.

“A very good race indeed,” I say. “I can hardly catch my breath.” As though noticing my short breaths, the clouds move aside for the sun. With its light, I breathe a little easier.

Lord Thornewood reaches out and pats my mare on the neck. He glances up at me, eyes still bright from the exercise. “You handled her well.”

I smile back. “I’m not entirely incompetent on a horse.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but the shrill cry of a woman’s voice stops him. We both turn toward the river, seeking the source.

A woman not much older than me runs frantically in the direction of a small child toddling toward the water on the opposite bank. He stumbles, rights himself, and continues toward the gray water, heedless of the danger it presents.

“Good God, she’ll never make it,” Lord Thornewood says and wheels his horse around toward the bridge. I watch them gallop away for a moment before returning my attention to the boy.

Apprehension grips me as all my mother’s warnings resound in my mind. But I cannot stand by and watch this child drown. Lord Thornewood and the woman are closing fast, but not nearly fast enough.

I walk my mare forward until her front hooves are in the water. “Easy there,” I murmur to her as I send my power traveling down the length of her legs. She twitches, but doesn’t move. As it did the day I saved Robert, the power tugs at the very core of me, pulling energy out of me like the spindle of a spinning wheel. It shimmers over the water, and I concentrate on the mud of the opposite bank. I picture what I want: for the mud to cover the boy’s feet and create suction he cannot escape. The earth shifts in obedience to my arcana’s request. I feel it deep inside me; a force as powerful as gravity.

The boy comes to a stop inches from the water’s edge. His face takes on a look of intense concentration, and I know he’s struggling against the mud. When at last he realizes he will not be able to free himself and continue to the water, he lets out a frustrated wail. The woman reaches him, and at the moment she scoops him into her arms, I release the arcana. His feet come free, and mud flies in every direction. She spins him around, kissing his fat cheeks.

Lord Thornewood arrives a moment later and says a few words to her. She nods, still holding the boy tightly to her breast.

A flash of emerald green velvet catches my attention just to the right of where the boy was. Eliza’s eyes meet mine over the river. I can feel her cold stare from even this distance, and anxious fear snakes down my spine. How much did she see? The power rippling across the water? The mud drawing up around the boy’s ankles? I shake my head. Perhaps I’m merely being paranoid.

I back the mare out of the water as Lord Thornewood returns to my side. I feel as feverish as I did when I saved Robert, so I release its hold before it saps all my strength. The lovely support disappears, and my horse tosses her head, nearly knocking me off balance.

“Whoa there,” Lord Thornewood calls out to my mare sternly. He looks at me with some concern. “Are you alright, Miss Sinclair?”

“She just surprised me. I’m fine,” I say. My breathing is rapid, though, and I force myself to take deep breaths. I glance up at the sky, but the sun is now hidden away by thick clouds. My only other option is to draw strength from the river. “Actually, my lord, I wonder if you might help me dismount for a moment?”

“Of course,” he says, throwing his leg over the side of his gelding and landing lightly on his feet. He strides over to me and holds my mare steady. “You look so pale. Are you sure you’re alright?”

I cannot even answer him. It takes all I have to force my leg over the pommel so I may slide down into his arms. Shakily, I do so. His hands are firm but gentle on my waist, holding me steady.

My knees threaten to buckle, and I beg them to hold out just a moment longer. “Could you help me to the water? I just believe I’ve become overheated.”