Magic In The Storm (31 page)

She managed a small shake of her head. “I
cannot.”

“Cannot! Cannot!” His fist banged the table
to emphasize the words. “You
will
and you will do so
immediately!” Lord Devaux was up out of his chair, screaming at her
in a way she had never seen before.

Adriana’s hands were clasped together so
tightly, her fingers beginning to prickle with pins and needles,
but she held her ground. “I cannot and I will not, my lord.”

“How dare you!” Lord Devaux stopped, took a
deep breath and then tried another tack. In a moderately calm voice
he asked, “What is this? What has happened to you? You used to be
so obedient, Adriana. Suddenly you’ve begun to assert yourself in a
way that is most unbecoming.”

“I am sorry, my lord, but you have never
before asked me to do anything so repugnant. I have made up my
mind. I will arrange your parties and take care of your house, but
I will not...”

“That is enough!” he shouted. “You are the
most stubborn girl. You always have been.”

Adriana stood in silence, staring straight
ahead at her guardian.

He took a deep breath.

It
was
enough. In fact, it was more
than enough, she thought. She had nothing more to say. Her heart
was broken, and she was certain the dam of tears inside of her was
about to burst open. But still, she stood.

“If that is all, my lord?” she finally
asked.

Lord Devaux looked up at her with a look of
fury in his eyes that made Adriana shiver. Only Lady Vallentyn
scared her more than her guardian—and that fear was enough to keep
herself in check and go through with what she had begun.

“No, that is not all,” he said, a terrifying
grin growing on his face. “This evening, when I return from
Parliament, I will personally burn all of your paintings. One by
one, you will watch all of your precious work destroyed until you
agree to marry Vallentyn.”

Adriana’s hands begin to shake. No matter how
tightly she held them together. She knew that it wouldn’t be long
before it spread to other parts of her.

Abruptly, she turned her back on her guardian
and walked to the door. As she opened it, she paused and said
without turning around, “I will be going out this afternoon, my
lord. I have an appointment at the modiste’s for a fitting for the
last of my new dresses. I think it will be perfect to wear to your
next dinner party. Please inform the footman that I may go before
you leave for Parliament.”

Adriana made it as far as the first landing
before she lost control. She didn’t know how she managed to stumble
all the way up to her studio.

The shaking, the tears, and eventually the
headache didn’t leave her all morning. She looked through each and
every one of her paintings. From the time she was six years old and
her parents had died in that horrible fire, she had not thrown away
a single one of her drawings and paintings. She marveled over the
slightly awkward yet powerful paintings of burnt buildings she had
painted when she’d been young, and then at her increasing deftness
with the brush and colors as she slowly taught herself to represent
the world. And if, perhaps, she lingered a little too long over her
most recent work—the painting of Morgan by the stream—who would
know? Henrietta came by to check on her only once. Adriana had
locked the door so that she wouldn’t be disturbed. She was too
busy. Too busy mourning her own life.

It was nearly twenty minutes to three, the
time that she had arranged to meet Morgan, when she finally stepped
outside of her studio. Carefully, she locked the door behind her,
and pocketed the only key. Through her sadness, she took perverse
pleasure at the thought that at least her guardian would have to
break down the door to the studio to get at her creations.

A splash of cold water and a touch of
Henrietta’s face powder would have to be good enough, she thought
eyeing herself in the mirror. There was nothing she could do about
her blood–shot eyes, but perhaps if she kept them lowered nobody
would notice.

Much to her surprise, Lord Devaux had
remembered to tell the footman that she had permission to leave the
house that afternoon, so she had no trouble meeting Morgan just
outside as they had planned.

M
organ could sense
the power in the room the moment he walked through Byron’s door. He
had been surprised by Byron’s charisma while speaking with him the
night before, but what was in this room was so much more potent.
There was a sense of being in the presence of greatness, and an
irresistible energy that pulled Morgan toward it. He eagerly looked
around the room for the source. It was easy to find—leaning
casually against the mantle was another gentleman.

Another Vallen, Morgan was sure of it.

Lord Byron came forward to greet them. Out of
the corner of his eye, Morgan saw Adriana hanging back, almost as
if she were afraid to enter the room.

“Lord Byron, may I present Miss Adriana
Hayden,” Morgan said, after giving his host a small bow. He could
tell by the look on her face that he wasn’t the only one affected
by the power in the room.

Lord Byron bowed to her. “I am very pleased
to meet you, Miss Hayden.” He then turned to the other gentleman
who was still standing by the fireplace. “I’m sure no introduction
is needed, but this is my good friend, Edmund Kean.”

Morgan could hear Adriana gasp quietly beside
him. He had heard of the famous actor from Kat, but the man baffled
him. He was a rather small person, but he gave off the impression
of being much larger. Could this be part of his magic? By his size
one wouldn’t think much of him, but by his bearing it was easy to
imagine an entire theatre of people on their feet shouting
accolades and praise—as Kat had described to him in one of her
meticulous letters that always kept him so well entertained when
she was in London.

“It is an honor to meet you,” Adriana said
quietly, while curtseying to Mr. Kean.

Morgan bowed, then took a moment to take in
the room. It looked like an ordinary drawing room. He didn’t quite
know what he had expected, but he’d thought that a powerful Vallen,
and especially one as talented as Lord Byron, would have some
outward sign of his impressive abilities. But there was nothing but
a well–appointed, if rather masculine, ordinary drawing room. For
some reason, he was acutely disappointed.

“Naturally you have seen Kean perform on the
stage?” Byron asked, while indicating they should seat
themselves.

Morgan put out his hands apologetically.
“This is my first visit to London. I’m afraid I haven’t had the
honor of going to the theatre yet.”

Lord Byron nodded and turned to Adriana. She
turned a little pink before saying quietly, “My guardian has never
allowed me...” her voice faded away as her blush deepened.

Mr. Kean had resumed his pose by the
mantle.

“In that case, you must join me one evening.
I have a box at the theatre,” Lord Byron offered.

“Thank you,” Morgan said. “I would enjoy that
a great deal. I’ve heard a great deal about your performance of
Macbeth from my cousin.” There was an awkward silence for a moment.
Adriana didn’t say anything, but just stared down at her
interlocked fingers.

“I read the play as a boy, and look forward
to seeing it enacted. Will the witches be played by Vallen?” Morgan
asked, although he was pretty certain what the answer would be.

Mr. Kean burst out laughing. He had a bold,
loud laugh, just how Morgan imagined an actor’s laugh would be.

“No!” He spread his arms open wide. “Do you
really believe we would allow the public to think that witches
might be real? No, I say! To do so would be foolhardy.” He finished
raising one arm and extending one finger up toward the ceiling in
another striking pose.

Morgan had felt it as soon as Mr. Kean began
speaking—a strong magic interlaced with his words and his motions.
What was it that Kean was doing? With hardly a thought, Morgan
blocked the magic.

Adriana laughed and shook her head, but then
stopped suddenly and gasped. A thrill rolled through Morgan as he
saw Adriana recognize the magic the actor had wielded so
expertly.

“So there are no other Vallen who are
actors?” Morgan asked skeptically, deliberately ignoring the magic
still reverberating in the air.

A slow smile spread over Mr. Kean’s face.
“Ah, I did not say that, did I?”

“No, you simply answered my question.”

“And do you not believe me?” Mr. Kean looked
sideways at Morgan.

“I do. Although I doubt very much the public
would think for a moment that the Vallen on stage were actually
magical unless they did something that clearly proved they
were.”

Mr. Kean seemed to be silently assessing him.
He then turned to Byron and bowed slightly. “You were right, my
friend, he is a powerful Vallen.” Turning back to Morgan he said,
“You were able to completely block my mesmer.”

Morgan gave a little apologetic smile and a
shrug.

“You doubted me?” Byron asked his friend,
raising an eyebrow.

“Never again!” Mr. Kean answered firmly.

“But to answer your question, there are other
Vallen in the theatre,” Mr. Kean went on, turning back to Morgan.
“Perhaps you will recognize them when you see them. I shall not
tell you who, but we will see if you can discern who they are after
you have seen our play.”

“But I’m not able to tell who is a Vallen and
who isn’t. Are you?” Morgan asked.

“At times. But it is just a guess. It is not
always correct and certainly not based on any sort of magical
ability, I assure you.”

“I have heard of Vallen who have that
ability, although I, myself, have never met one,” Lord Byron said.
He turned more fully toward Morgan. Immediately, Morgan was even
more aware of the strength of his presence, the energy exuding from
him. He shifted to the edge of the sofa as Lord Byron continued,
“So you are able to block Kean’s enthrall. That is interesting,
very interesting. He is quite strong, you know. Although,” and here
he turned to Mr. Kean, “I don’t think you were giving it your all.
Try a little harder next time.”

Mr. Kean bowed his acquiescence.

“How can you tell who is Vallen?” Adriana
asked Mr. Kean, sitting at the edge of her chair. Morgan had never
seen her look so demure.

Mr. Kean held out his hands on either side of
his body in a large shrug. “They are nearly always prominent
people, Miss Hayden. Men and women who are somehow larger than life
or who have done fabulous things. Mozart, Wellington, Nelson.”

“There’s that fellow in America, what was his
name? Franklin?” Lord Byron asked.

“Yes, and General Washington I believe must
be Vallen as well,” Kean agreed.

“Are they mostly men?” Adriana asked.

“Oh no, there are quite a number of very
powerful women as well. You don’t hear of them so often. Frequently
they are the power behind a great man, telling him what to do or
making sure what he does is admired or believed. Washington’s wife
and Abigail Adams probably fall into that category. Very powerful
women.”

“And, of course, our esteemed leader is
always a woman—your mother in this case,” Lord Byron said
nonchalantly, but looking at Morgan through half–closed eyes to see
his reaction.

Morgan froze. He gave a small nod, but
pressed his lips together. He didn’t know how close Lord Byron or
Mr. Kean were to his mother. He thought it best to find out more
about them before laying himself open.

“Is the king a Vallen? Or the prince?”
Adriana asked, moving the subject away from his mother.

Mr. Kean burst out with his grand laugh once
more. “No, Miss Hayden, most definitely not. There are some at
court, however, and they guide the king and prince so one might
easily be fooled into thinking the royal family is greater than it
is.”

Lord Byron too laughed at this, although it
was just a small shaking of his shoulders. “Our esteemed royal
family... well, all I can say is it would be a very different world
were they Vallen, I can assure you.”

“Well, we wouldn’t be hunted, now, would we?”
Mr. Kean asked rhetorically.

Morgan nodded at the wisdom of this
statement.

“May I ask a rather personal question?”
Morgan asked.

Byron raised an eyebrow, but Kean relaxed his
back against the mantelpiece, and crossed his arms over his chest,
ready for anything.

How close are you to my mother and can I
trust you?
The words nearly tripped off of Morgan’s tongue, and
with the feeling of daring that had been coursing through him, it
took quite an effort to hold them back. Instead, he consciously
tamped down that urge and did his best to close himself off to the
magic that seeped from Lord Byron. His mother already knew too much
about him. He needed to play his cards close to his chest. If
either Byron or Kean reported their meeting back to his mother, he
didn’t want her finding out what he was seeking. He would have to
ask his questions in a round–about way.

“When did you know that you were Vallen and
the extent of your powers?” he asked, hoping that one of them would
have attained his powers later in life as he was.

“I have always known,” Kean replied
immediately, much to Morgan’s chagrin. “I come from a family of
actors, and Vallen.”

“And you, my lord?” Morgan asked, looked at
the gentleman next to him.

“I’ve always been able to convince people to
do things they otherwise might not have done.” He gave a lopsided
smile and a little shrug. “I didn’t realize it was magic until I
was at school and met other Vallen who recognized my powers.”

“But you’ve always had your powers, you just
didn’t know it?”

“Yes, that’s right,” Lord Byron nodded.