Authors: Marissa Doyle
“I’ve carried this around with me for weeks, but I’ve never said the words that go with it,” he said,
and met her eyes. “Do you know what it is?”
Persy swallowed. “It’s a love spell—an old country one,” she managed to say. “I read about it in
one of Ally’s books. But—”
“You’re correct. But I never could finish the spell, no matter how tempting it was. What good
would it be for you to love me because of this and not because you really wanted me of your own free
will?”
Was she hearing things? Or had falling hurt her head, and now she was hallucinating, scrambling
the events of the last weeks into nonsense? “But it’s magic!” she cried, staring down at it once more.
The lock of his hair was very bright against the white of her glove, as bright as the gold embroidery
thread that spelled out PL on the hem.
“Why shouldn’t I use magic?” he asked. “I came by it honestly enough. My mother—”
“Your mother was killed by a witch’s curse. Papa said it was just a silly rumor, but …” Her mouth
felt too dry to continue. The room felt like it had before—charged with a mysterious, perilous energy.
But there was no spell circle around her now. Only those eyes, dark tonight and filled with their own
magic.
“Mother didn’t die from a witch’s curse. If only there had been a witch with her, when she …” He
sighed and shook his head, then squared his shoulders before he spoke again.
“Persy, my mother
was
a witch. That silly rumor got started later, God only knows how. If she’d
lived, you and she might have—might have been friends.”
Lochinvar’s mother, a witch? This was more than Persy could comprehend right now. But
Lochinvar hadn’t finished.
“I inherited some of her power but there was no one to train me. Only when I got to Cambridge did
I start to learn the rudiments. I don’t even know if this love spell would have worked. Pathetic, isn’t
it?” He smiled sadly.
“You … doing magic?”
“Yes, me. How do you think he”—Lochinvar jerked his head at Michael Carrighar—“didn’t see
you under that table at Kensington Palace? And after that, when Sir John passed us in the corridor?
I’m not very good, but I was able to cast a sufficient cloaking spell. I’m surprised that you didn’t
notice it.”
That almost made her laugh. As if she’d been capable of noticing
anything
when he’d held her
against him that day. She felt like she had to shout in order to be heard over the sound of her heart
thudding in her breast. But when she spoke, her voice would only come out in a whisper. “Then you
don’t hate witches?”
“No, Persy, I don’t. Especially not one witch in particular.” His voice was light, but his face was
more serious and intent than she’d ever seen it. “I was afraid that you would be put off by it … and
when you did that halting spell on me last night, I was too flabbergasted to do anything but stand there
and stare. I called this afternoon hoping to see you but too much else was going on, and I couldn’t get
a moment alone with you. And then Charles told me about your governess and I was … well, I was
madder than hell because of your charade and just wanted to get away and figure out what we could
do to protect you, so that afterward I could yell at you good and proper and then ask you to marry me
again. I should have known that you were far stronger than I could dream of being, but I had to do
something to protect the woman I love.” He put his arms around her and pulled her against him.
“Now zhen, sir …” Baroness Lehzen stepped forward with a disapproving look on her face.
“Sshh!” Princess Victoria grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “I want to see what happens.”
Persy let her hands creep up to rest on his shoulders. Was she truly hearing this? “You don’t mind
that I’m a witch? Really?” she whispered.
Instead of answering, Lochinvar bent his head and touched his lips to hers. He drew back and
looked at her, then kissed her again. It was different from those kisses at Mrs. Cheke-Bentinck’s: This
time, she knew that he was kissing her because he wanted to, not because she’d made him. She closed
her eyes and, just as she’d longed to, buried her fingers in his hair and kissed him back.
After a while—it was hard to say just how long—someone cleared her throat rather pointedly.
Lochinvar lifted his head and looked at Persy with satisfaction.
“There. Does that answer your question?” he asked, smiling. “I’ve kissed you in front of your
brother, your sister, two governesses, and the heiress to the throne. So if you don’t want your
reputation irretrievably ruined, you’ll
have
to marry me. And I can stop carrying this glove around
with me, can’t I? Or do I have to say that spell after all?”
She buried her face against his shoulder. “No, Lochinvar, you don’t need to say it.”
“Ohhh.” Princess Victoria sighed happily. “That was better than an opera! Wasn’t it, Lehzen?”
Charles walked up to her and solemnly offered her his arm. “I don’t think we’re needed here
anymore, Your Highness. May I have the honor of escorting you back to the ballroom?”
AUGUST 1837—BUCKINGHAM HOUSE, LONDON
“H
onestly, tea with royalty again? Why can’t I come this time? She liked me too, after all. She said
so.” Charles frowned ferociously at them as the carriage drew up to the front entrance of the Lelands’
Mayfair house. He had not returned to Eton, begging to remain home until September, after Persy’s
wedding.
“Because this is a girls-only tea party, Chuckles,” Pen returned as Ally climbed inside the carriage.
She had been invited specially with them in order to visit the Baroness Lehzen.
“We’ll tell her you send your compliments,” Persy added.
“Oh. That’s all right, then,” Charles said gruffly and turned away. But they had both seen the look
of happiness in his eyes. It seemed their little brother had taken something of a fancy to the Princess
Victoria.
Queen Victoria, now. Only three weeks after her coming-of-age ball, poor King William had
peacefully died, happy in the knowledge that he had lived past his niece’s eighteenth birthday. The
slender girl with the large blue eyes had slipped into her role as queen as if she had been born to it.
Which, Persy reflected, she had been.
A few weeks ago she and Pen had read in the paper how the men of the late king’s Privy Council,
men learned and famous, men tempered by battles both military and political, had been awed by the
majesty of their tiny new queen at her first council meeting. Sir John’s malicious stories had found
their mark, and all the council members had heard about her immaturity and ignorance verging on
feeblemindedness. Instead they found her dignified and confident, aware of her youth and
inexperience but prepared to work. “She not merely filled her chair,” the Duke of Wellington was
reported to have said, “she filled the room.”
“I hope that will put paid to Sir John’s poison,” Pen had said, folding the paper with a satisfied
snap.
“I’d rather something put paid to Sir John,” Persy had replied, and moved closer to Ally on the
drawing room sofa. They had been nearly inseparable since the princess’s ball.
“Something already has.” Ally squeezed her hand. “The queen took her throne without him.”
“That’s not quite what I meant,” Persy objected.
“I know that. But sometimes picking up one’s life and proceeding as if nothing had occurred is the
best revenge of all.” Ally had smiled, looking both wicked and wise at the same time.
That was more or less what happened, with a few surprises.
Lochinvar had presented himself at their door at the unheard-of hour of nine in the morning after the
ball to ask Lord Atherston for Persy’s hand. Papa had emerged from their interview looking confused
but happy, both of which sensations became universal in the household when the bell rang yet again
and Ally appeared in the drawing room doorway.
Persy was slightly worried about what Mama’s reaction would be when Ally came back. Poor
Mama had been dumbfounded when Persy told her about Lochinvar’s proposal, and Persy supposed
that it was not surprising. So when Ally had curtsied her greeting after being announced by an
astonished Kenney, Persy kept a close eye on her mother. Indeed, Mama blinked and did not speak for
several seconds, a sure sign that she was taken aback.
Pen spoke instead. “Mama, we hope you’ll take Ally back as our governess for a while longer. She
didn’t mean to leave us—it wasn’t her fault at all.”
Mama didn’t answer.
“I should like to explain my absence to you, your ladyship, but I am not sure that you would believe
my story,” Ally added quietly. “All I can ask is your forgiveness and understanding.”
Mama gave her a keen look. “I see. I am assuming, then, that it had something to do with your
magic?”
In that instant, an Indian in full battle dress declaiming Shakespeare in Russian while dancing a jig
could have materialized in the middle of the dark blue Brussels carpet, and none of them would have
noticed. Persy was not sure that she wasn’t still in bed dreaming, but one look at Pen’s and Ally’s
astonished faces banished that thought.
“Mama—you knew?” she managed to ask.
“But how—?” Ally gasped.
“Well, of course I did. I’m not entirely inexperienced when it comes to magic, you know.” Mama
picked up her embroidery, a funny little smile hovering about her mouth. “Why do you think I hired
Miss Allardyce in the first place? Your grandmama Leland warned me when you were born that
magic ran in the female side of the family, so I made sure that you would have a governess who
understood you. I was concerned that all this had something to do with magic and had started to make
inquiries on my own, but I didn’t want to worry you girls.”
Persy looked at Ally. It was her turn to be speechless.
“Magic is not something that should be much discussed,” Mama continued. Yes, amusement
definitely lurked in the corners of her mouth. “Especially in public. I merely kept an eye on matters
and saw that Miss Allardyce had you girls well in hand. Of course I should like her to return. We’ll
have a great deal of work ahead of us completing Persy’s trousseau in time for the wedding. Dear me,
I must send a note to Madame Gendreau. Won’t you excuse me?” She folded her embroidery and rose
from her seat.
“Mama,” Pen said. “What did you mean, you’re ‘not inexperienced with magic’? Are you—”
“Of course not, dear. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t run across it before. I’ll tell you about it some
other time.” She smiled reminiscently and swept from the room, leaving Persy and Pen—and Ally—
agog.
The next several weeks were spent in a flurry of shopping once again, interspersed with social
events that had not ceased, including their own ball. Persy no longer dreaded them, because
Lochinvar would be there, waiting to claim the first dance with her and as many as he possibly could
after that. And she and Pen were finally free to giggle over all the evenings’ events, with the amusing
addition of Lorrie.
But perhaps the most surprising event occurred late in July.
The main part of the season had ended, and the parties and balls had slowed to a trickle as
fashionable London society left for their country houses to avoid the city’s heat and smells. Mama and
Ally had taken advantage of the lull to complete shopping for Persy’s trousseau, but even with that
excuse Ally seemed to be out of the house a good deal more than seemed necessary. Pen and Persy
filled the empty hours between visits to Madame Gendreau (where they saw Sally Louder getting
fitted for her own wedding dress) tutoring Charles not only in academics, but also in magic. His
power was as yet small and weak, like a newly hatched bird. But like a hatchling he was voracious,
and practiced until his head ached and Persy had to charm away the pain. Lochinvar often joined
them, and it was wonderful to watch him and Charles learn together, Charles imitating Lochinvar’s
every move like a worshipful puppet.
But Persy wanted Ally there, too. Happy as she was to think about her future with Lochinvar, she
knew that it would mean losing Ally. Couldn’t Mama handle the shopping on her own, so that Ally
could be with them?
At lunch on that late July day, Ally surveyed them all. “My mother would be most honored if Persy
and Pen—yes, and you too, Charles—could come to tea this afternoon. Would that be all right, Lady
Parthenope?”
Mama had agreed that it would, and so they had all taken the carriage down to Oxford Street. Mrs.
Allardyce greeted them warmly at the shop door, though her eyes narrowed when she caught sight of
Lorrie, who had accompanied them. Persy saw that Lorrie affected not to notice, though she walked
as closely behind her and Pen as she could.
Mr. Allardyce beamed as they entered, and even Merlin looked pleased, though he too cast dark