A Breath of Frost (30 page)

“I can’t wait,” Emma muttered.

“The witching families
of England have been holding the reins of power for centuries, though few know it, of course. Each family will have their own boasts, some of which must remain unsubstantiated and even more of which contradict each other. For instance, William Wallace’s defeat of the English at the Battle of Stirling Bridge in 1297 was claimed by an ancient witching family of the Highlands. Conversely, Wallace’s consequent capture and execution in 1305 was claimed by a family here in London. So you see …”

Mrs. Fergus was a very dull teacher, despite her rather eccentric appearance. She wore only green from the emeralds in her necklace to the ribbons on her shoes. Her morning dress was a dark forest green over a pale underdress in a more minty shade. She claimed to have had a dream on the night of her thirteenth birthday instructing her to wear only green for good luck and
she had followed it to the letter these past thirty-two years. It did not signify that green did not flatter her in the least.

She droned on for another half an hour, until the door to the drawing room opened. The housekeeper poked her head in. “Mrs. Sparrow would like the girls who are attending the dancing lesson to know the carriages are ready.”

The younger girls looked in awe as Emma, Gretchen, and Penelope gathered their belongings and left. Four carriages rolled away from the school, crowded with chattering students. The Duchess of Watford was hosting a morning dance lesson to give the girls a chance to practice before the annual Watford ball.

“Oh, blast,” Gretchen muttered, spotting her mother in the ballroom, wearing an impressive day dress trimmed with French lace. Lady Wyndham’s advice on etiquette was eagerly sought out by hostesses. Even Daphne looked impressed that she was present. Not for the first time, Gretchen wondered if she’d been accidentally switched at birth.

Lady Wyndham descended on them immediately, crossing the black-and-white checkerboard marble floor. The other students stayed together, staring at the footmen and maidservants working on the decorations. Baskets of greenery and pots of orchids waited to be distributed and the giant chandelier in the center of the ceiling had been lowered to replace the old candles. A dancing master stood at the very end of the enormous room, waving his hands at the man sitting at the pianoforte.

“Good morning,
Maman
.” Gretchen sounded resigned.

“Good morning, girls. I trust you are ready to make me proud?”

“Only if Godric is learning to dance as well,” Gretchen said, only half joking.

“All of the boys are,” her mother said. “And they never give me half as much trouble as you do. I cannot understand why you insist on being contrary. You cannot possibly object to dancing.”

“It’s not the dancing,
Maman
. It’s the boys with sweaty palms looking down my dress.”

Lady Wyndham sucked in an offended breath. “You will keep your conversation pretty and polite.” She looked at Penelope. “None of your gothic novels tonight, and none of your stars, Emma.” She pointed at Gretchen, though the motion was not genteel. “And you will not set one foot inside the library, young lady.”

“Oh,
Maman
.”

She clapped her hands imperiously and the girls rushed to stand at attention. “Girls, the duchess has very kindly invited you here to practice your dancing. I trust I do not need to remind you to be discreet.”

More girls arrived, none of them from Rowanstone. “Remember, girls,” Lady Wyndham was saying. “You must show yourself to your best advantage at all times. You must be decorative and elegant and pleasant. Do not monopolize the conversation.” She glanced pointedly at her nieces. “And do not display your intelligence too obviously, lest it intimidate your dance partner. You must have a care. Men are not as confident as they appear to be.”

Gretchen rolled her eyes. “Then why aren’t they working as hard to impress us? Why should it always fall to us?”

Lady Wyndham’s nostrils flared. It was the only indication
that she was about to lose her temper. Her voice was cold and calm. “Napoleon has taken all of our young men, both proud and poor. They fight against him to keep us safe. The sad fact is, many will not return. They deserve our respect.” She looked at each girl directly. “To put it plainly, there are more girls looking for husbands than there are men left to become husbands. Therefore, you must all be the prettiest and the most accomplished if you are to have any hope of success.”

Daphne stood so straight, Lady Wyndham might as well have been a general in the army.

“I trust you do not need to be reminded that it is not acceptable to dance more than two dances with the same gentleman, however handsome he might be.”

“Not even Cormac Fairfax.” Someone giggled but Emma couldn’t see who it was. Daphne’s head turned sharply.

“Not even Lord Blackburn,” Lady Wyndham corrected. “You may mark the following dances on your fan for this evening: the cotillion, the reel, and
la boulangere
.”

“May we also practice the waltz, Lady Wyndham?” Lilybeth asked breathlessly.

“Certainly not,” she replied. “Take your positions.” She nodded curtly at the dancing master. “Begin.”

The lessons went on for two hours, with Lady Wyndham interrupting the dance master with helpful proclamation such as: “We do not gallop, ladies. We
skip
.” Even Gretchen found herself enjoying the exertion, though she never would have admitted it to her mother.

“The dancing master will be on hand to assist you,” Lady
Wyndham announced when they stopped for lemonade. “And if you should feel lost during the ball, listen for him calling out the steps. He is there to make you look good.” She nodded graciously. “You are dismissed.”

“Quickly,” Gretchen whispered to her cousins. “Let’s make our escape before she notices.”

They were near the doors when Lady Wyndham spoke again. “Gretchen a moment, if you please.”

She froze, very much like a rabbit under the shadow of a hunter’s hound.

“I am sending the dressmaker to you later this week, Gretchen. Don’t forget.”

Gretchen fancied she knew exactly how the rabbit felt just before it was eaten.

The next day
, Emma and Penelope went to Hyde Park. It was a rare bright London day without fog or the foul smell from the Thames tainting the air. Rotten Row was packed as always, with ladies in fine riding habits on horseback and gentlemen in cutaway coats and brimmed hats. On the other side of the riding track, painted and gilded carriages trundled by, filled with countesses and duchesses and their bored daughters eager to see and be seen. Emma and Penelope preferred to stay on foot, strolling over the lawns as the wind tossed the canopy of leaves, letting in more sunlight. They stopped to watch two carriages going far too fast in a race to see who would reach the oak tree around the corner. Just last year two people had died from a collision during such a race. Riders moved aside, grumbling. Money changed hands as bets were made as to the outcome.

“He’s quite handsome,” Penelope said, making a subtle motion
with her head to point out the young man in question. He was leaning on the railing, watching the race. His pocket watch caught the sunlight. “Maybe he’s my true love.”

“Perhaps your true love is a portly old man with no hair on his head,” Emma teased.

“Perhaps,” Penelope replied, cheerfully. “So long as he doesn’t mind an equally portly girl with a father in trade.”

They meandered down the path, cutting away from the crowds and stopping to watch the ducks floating in the Serpentine. “I think we’re being followed,” Penelope muttered. “I was hoping that gentleman was eager to make our acquaintance, but now I think it’s a Keeper. As if the footman wasn’t enough.”

Emma sighed, following her cousin’s gaze. Behind their very polite footman a young man was walking toward them, looking nonchalant. It wasn’t his pocket watch that had been gleaming but the chain of an iron-wheel pendant. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”

Penelope grinned mischievously. “He looks so severe. Shall we take him on a merry chase? And our very bored footman as well?”

“Let’s.”

They kept their pace steady and slow until they reached a curve in the walkway. Where it turned away from the water, disappearing into several small groves, they exchanged a quick grin and burst into a run. They flew through the grass, trailing bright laughter. Emma left behind ghouls and secrets and opened gates to the Underworld. There was only Penelope’s hand in hers and the press of wind in their hair.

“Here he comes,” Penelope exclaimed. “Oh, look at his face!”

They jumped over plants, nearly bowled down an elderly couple out for a stroll, and then ducked into the trees. Birds flew off their perches in a flurry of agitated feathers. They collapsed under a willow tree, giggling. Emma tucked a lock of hair back into the knot at her nape, listening for pounding footsteps or a warning shout. It was silly, but it made her feel better to have outrun a Keeper.

Not all of them were as easy to escape.

“Well, well.”

Emma froze, shutting her eyes for a long moment. Penelope was grinning at her when she opened them again. “Lord Blackburn, how do you do?” her cousin asked, cheerfully unrepentant.

Emma turned around to face him. “Did the Order send you to follow us too?”

“You gave that poor man palpitations when you ran away,” he answered, smiling easily. His navy coat perfectly set off the rich darkness of his hair and eyes. “I have to say, my Keeper duties rarely involve escorting two such lovely ladies as yourselves.”

Emma lifted her eyes skyward. “Do stop flirting. You might hurt yourself.”

“I am well practiced.” He caught her hand in his, pressing a kiss to the back of her knuckles.

“I am aware,” she said, her mouth quirking as she fought a smile. Even through her gloves she could feel the warmth of his lips. Penelope watched them as if they were a particularly fascinating play.

“It’s never a hardship to escort two of the Lovegrove cousins,” Cormac continued, still holding her hand. His thumb stroked the inside of her wrist, his left eyebrow rising in a perfect arch as he waited for her reaction.

“I need my concentration to hold the Fith-Fath spell,” she said, snatching her hand back. Her fingers tingled. “If the glamour fades you’ll be wandering the park with a wild deer-girl. Think of what it would do to your reputation.”

“I can take it,” he assured her. He glanced at Penelope who looked smug. “Aren’t there always three of you?”

“Gretchen had to stay behind to learn embroidery,” she explained, laughing out loud. “She was very seriously put out.”

“She hates embroidery,” Emma elaborated. “With a passion usually reserved for ball gowns and calves’ foot jelly.”

“Is there anyone who doesn’t hate calves’ foot jelly?”

“True. But apparently she needs embroidery skill for charms and spell bundles.”

“While calves’ foot jelly is good for nothing at all,” Penelope added.

“I heard your cousin was a Whisperer.”

“Yes. Are there male Whisperers as well?” Emma asked curiously.

“Certainly,” he replied as they began to walk.

“And do
they
embroider?”

“Yes.” He flashed a grin.

“Yes, but only in secret.”

“As long as it’s fair and equal torture,” Emma approved.

“I like embroidery,” Penelope pointed out. “More’s the pity.”

Emma looped her arm through Penelope’s. “Don’t think for a moment Gretchen won’t be needling you to do it for her.”

“I know,” she replied. “I don’t mind.”

They ducked out from the feathery branches and headed back to the path. The Keeper was red-cheeked and frantic, next to an equally concerned footman. “Easy, Thaddeus. I’ll see the ladies safely home,” Cormac told him.

He bowed stiffly at them and then stalked away. Penelope’s lips quirked. “I don’t suppose he’ll ask me to dance now.”

Cormac dismissed the panting footman as well, who left with a relieved smile.

“I
am
allowed off the grounds,” Emma felt compelled to say.