Arcana (15 page)

Her eyes brighten with understanding and she rises from her seat. “I would be happy to.”

Eliza’s glare digs into my back as I lead her intended victim away.

I’m prepared to give Robert a strong look to get him to play along, but I needn’t have worried. As soon as we approach, he bows before Penelope like she’s a princess.

“I believe we met earlier, Miss Hasting.” He smiles his most charming smile—the one that makes his blue eyes look like they’re lit from within. “My sister and I were just saying how lovely you look this evening.”

Virginia lets out a huff and mutters something to Eliza, and they both stalk off like wolves that have lost their prey.

“Thank you,” Penelope says with a shy smile, her voice as soft as her demeanor.

She reminds me so much of Lucy, I surprise her by looping my arm through hers. “You needn’t thank us. We’re glad to have the chance to talk with you.”

“You’re very kind.” Her eyes flit to my brother’s before darting back to my face.

I give her arm a little squeeze. “I will repeat the sage advice you gave me earlier today. You can’t believe anything those girls say. It’s their mission to make as many people as miserable as they are.”

She plays with the edge of one of the pink ribbons. “That’s true. But, I
am
wearing a lot of ribbons.”

Robert nearly spits out his drink and laughs.

She smiles back at him. “It’s my mother’s fault, of course.”

“Well,” Robert says, “when you have a mother who wears hats like that, you can bloody well expect her daughter to be dressed in an abundance of fabric.”

“Robert,” I say with a warning tone. Apparently he needs a reminder he’s not with his Oxford buddies.

He grins at us both impishly, and Penelope basks in his attention. I think even if Penelope were insulted, she’d forgive him anything.

“Would you honor me with a dance?” he asks in his most formal tone of voice.

Penelope tucks a piece of hair behind her ear and smiles at him. “I’d love to, thank you.”

I finish the rest of my cake as I watch them move toward the dance floor.

“Katherine, the most wonderful news,” Grandmama says as she joins me, her eyes bright with excitement. “Lord Blackburn has invited us to enjoy his box seats at the opera tomorrow.”

For once, she brings good news. “How delightful. I’ve never been. Do you know what’s playing?”

“What nonsense,” Grandmama says with an exasperated tone of voice. “No one pays attention to the opera. We’ll be too busy talking with Lord Blackburn.”

Honestly, does no one take anything but the most frivolous things seriously? “Well, I will be watching the opera. I’ll speak with him at the intermission.”

“You will do no such thing. Lord Blackburn invited us there to be able to talk to you. It would be very rude indeed to ignore him.”

I know I’m wearing a dumbfounded look, but really, what do I say to that? Her logic makes absolutely no sense. “I shall hang on his every word then,” I say with mock seriousness.

“Good girl. Now when your brother finishes his dance, we’ll take our leave. We can’t be seen staying too long as if we have nowhere else to be.”

I look up at the clock to see it is well after one in the morning. Oh yes, because we have
so
many other things to do at such an ungodly hour. But I give her a small smile and nod because I certainly won’t argue when given the chance to leave.

My eyes fall back to the dance floor, and I realize Lord Thornewood is dancing, too. It takes me a moment to find who his partner is, but when I see her, my stomach tightens uncomfortably. Eliza wears a flirtatious smile, and her eyes stay locked on the earl’s. Worse, he doesn’t look as annoyed as he usually does with her. My stomach goes from feeling tight to making me wish I hadn’t eaten so much cake.

“Lord Thornewood seems to be enjoying himself,” my grandmother says with what I’m sure is the matching frown to my own. “That girl—Miss Grey, I believe—looks entirely too much like you.”

My eyebrows raise. “You think she looks like me?” I can’t decide if that’s a compliment or not.

“From the back, especially. Lady Hasting just commented on it earlier.” Grandmama’s eyes scan my body critically. “She is more classically beautiful, but you have the same natural allure your mother had.”

“Thank you,” I murmur, my attention still riveted on the earl and Eliza. I tilt my head, considering. We are both tall, slender. I’m slender to the point where I think I can pass fairly well for a young man were I so inclined. Robert has mocked me endlessly about this ever since I first started wearing breeches. Our hair is blonde and our eyes are light, though the shades of both are very different. To be told I look like someone with such a hateful demeanor is disconcerting to say the least.

The dance ends, and Robert and Penelope join us. I want to immediately ask Robert if he agrees with Grandmama and Lady Hasting, but I manage to hold my tongue.

My eyes are drawn to Lord Thornewood again as Grandmama makes her good-byes, and I soon wish I didn’t look. Eliza’s gloved hand is on his arm as she leans close to him. He bends down to hear her better, and then his face breaks out into a grin. She smiles up at him, her button nose crinkling ever so slightly, and I feel a dark energy awake in me at the sight of it. Why am I so upset? Why should I care who the earl smiles at?

But as he offers her his arm, I wonder if maybe Grandmama was right about our similarities. Perhaps the earl finds us interchangeable.

TEN

I
wake at a more respectable time since it was long after three before I went to sleep. I lie there for a moment, and the sickening sensation that something unpleasant happened the night before assails my mind. Eliza’s hand on Lord Thornewood’s arm, Lord Thornewood leaning in to speak to her, smiling at her, dancing with her . . . I can’t make the torrent of memories stop. With a shake of my head, I dress myself without calling for Mary’s assistance.

As has become my habit, I glance over at my mother’s journal. The soft glow it emits could not come at a more welcome time. I open it eagerly.

I close my eyes as my mother’s music plays in my mind. I knew it told a story, but I never guessed it was hers. Though I cannot say I am ever displeased to hear stories of my parents’ past, this particular memory only dredges up a deep sadness. Mama knew my father was the one for her during their first meeting. Perhaps, then, the earl isn’t the man I hope him to be. Perhaps his attention to Eliza is a sign I am meant for another—or, my deepest fear, that I am meant for no one. For how would Lord Thornewood react were he to know the truth about me? If he was to find out I am not even entirely human? A flash of my childhood friend Henry’s reaction trickles into my consciousness, and I forcefully suppress it.

I close the journal. These self-pitying thoughts will not do. Maybe Lucy will help me realize how overly dramatic I’m being.

I look for her in the room where she usually studies with Miss Watts, but one of the servants tells me she has taken ill. Instead of eating breakfast, I go to her bedroom, worried she is suffering another of her headaches. She’s had them ever since she was little. My mother would prepare a tea to take the pain away, and I remember her telling Lucy she was sorry—like she was somehow responsible for them.

“Luce?” I call softly as I push the door open gently. I try to make as little noise as possible as I go to the side of her bed. The heavy velvet drapes are pulled over both windows, pitching the room into darkness.

My sister is huddled on her side, one hand pressed on the ridge above her closed eye. “Morning,” she says weakly.

“Morning indeed. You look as though you are in terrible pain. Is it another headache?”

She nods once.

“You should have sent for me, Luce,” I scold gently. “Why suffer when I can help?”

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” she whispers, her eyes closed again. “I know how draining it is.”

I wave her off. “Nonsense. Now lie back.”

I have to give her a stern look for a few seconds, but she does as I tell her, lying back against the pillows and removing her hand from her forehead. I lay the palm of my hand over her forehead like I’m checking for a fever and close my eyes. Since we’re indoors, I don’t have much to draw on except for my own energy, so it’s good I had enough rest—not that I’d admit that to Lucy.

I concentrate on the haze of red pain centered above her right eye and call my healing white light to the palm of my hand. A tingle shoots up my arm as a soft glow illuminates Lucy’s face. Instead of the warm sunshine smell usually released with arcana, healing energy releases a scent like freshly tilled earth.

Lucy winces at first, the light bothering her sensitive eyes, but then she relaxes as my power erases her pain. I feel the drain on my body, and it’s like a long night of dancing condensed into seconds. My energy ebbs, and I start to breathe faster.

Once the red haze of pain disappears and Lucy’s entire body relaxes, I remove my hand. I flop down on the bed beside her, and she sits up.

“This is why I’m so reluctant for your help,” she says, scolding me now. “I can’t stand to see what it does to you.”

“Well,” I say between pants, “I can’t stand seeing you in pain. In this, we’re even.”

She lets out an exasperated snort.

I force my breathing to slow, but I’m still fatigued enough to consider a nap. “I’ll be fine after a little fresh air. You would do well to join me. A lack of it is probably to blame for your headache.”

She watches me closely as I wobble a bit when I stand and her expression turns pensive. “What do you suppose would happen if you tried to heal something more serious than a headache?”

“Arcana always has a cost,” I say, side-stepping her morbid question. The answer is I could drain all my energy, effectively ending my life. But I refuse to give in to my sister’s worrying.

Her big eyes—so like my own—widen. “Promise me you’ll never try.”

“I won’t do anything of the kind. If you or Robert or Papa ever needed my help, then I would give it to you without question.” She gets a determined look on her face like she plans to continue this asinine debate, so I say, “Why are you so intent on this?”

“Because if I don’t worry about you, who will?”