Burning Bright (2 page)

She followed her mother into the narrow front hall. It was not a welcoming house, here on the unfashionable side of Mayfair, its plain, striped wallpaper cold blue and white, its walls devoid of paintings or portraits that would have made it seem more homelike. The air smelled of a harsh, astringent cleanser and, beneath that, the dust the cleanser was intended to eradicate. Elinor made immediately for the stairs. It had been a long journey, and she wanted nothing more than to rest in some room far, far away from her parents’ scrutiny.

“Why is this house so cold?” Amelia said, removing her velvet-lined bonnet with reluctance and dangling it by its ribbons. “Do you suppose they use that horrid-smelling substance so we’ll be impressed at how thoroughly they’ve cleaned? Really, you would think, with as much as papa is spending on this place, the servants might at least make it comfortable.”

“Mr. Pembroke, only listen! We have had callers already,” her mother cried. She waved two calling cards in the air as if they were tickets to a grand opera.

“Have we?” Mr. Pembroke took the cards from his wife’s hand, glanced at them, and dropped them back on the salver. “No one of any consequence. Elinor, where are you going?”

“I… wish to rest before dinner,” Elinor said, her hand grasping the newel.

Mr. Pembroke cast his iron-grey gaze silently on her for the space of several breaths, during which time the back of Elinor’s neck prickled with apprehension. Surely he could find nothing to criticize in such an ordinary request? “Very well,” he said finally. “Choose what room you will. I suppose you won’t want my permission to light a fire in your grate, daughter?” He laughed at his poor joke, and Elinor smiled weakly and made her escape.

Behind her, Amelia’s drawling voice battled with her mother’s higher-pitched twitter. Small mercy: if she were forced to attend social gatherings where she would be on display like a cake in a shop window, she at least would not have to endure her younger sister’s presence there.

She chose a bedroom as far from her parents’ suite as possible, a little room her sister would not try to whine or wheedle away from her. It looked like an afterthought, tucked into an odd corner, with only one window that looked out on the rear of the house and massive furniture that might have graced a medieval manor. Elinor had to step sideways around the wardrobe to squeeze into her bed, which was tall enough to require the use of a stepstool to climb into it. The furnishings were so out of place they might have been placed there in storage. However, it had its own fireplace and was only steps from the water closet, an amenity their own home in Hertfordshire did not have. Elinor used it, then returned to her room, removed her gown, and hung it carefully on a peg in the wardrobe, shivering; despite the sunshine, it was unseasonably cold for April.

She stood in the center of the room in her shift and stays and traveling boots and hugged herself, rubbing the goose-pimply flesh of her arms. She was certain her father had no idea how he cowed her, that he saw only the smooth, indifferent visage she presented the world when she was in his presence, and she intended that he never discover the truth. If he but once realized how afraid of him she was, his casual cruelties would become intentional torment, for Josiah Pembroke despised weakness and showed no mercy to anyone who displayed it. One person in all the world who terrified her, and he was her own father.

She rubbed her arms harder. Why was this room still so cold? The fire—no, the grate was cold, fuel laid on the hearth but not lit. The unlit fire was an empty space inside Elinor’s mind, the potential for flame clamoring at her to become real, so she obliged it with a thought.

Instantly the coals glowed as hot as if they’d been lit half an hour before, and small orange-yellow flames stretched out toward her, their heat caressing her bare limbs. She crouched down on her heels to feel the warmth on her face, and resisted the urge to take the fire into her hands, where it would surely burn her. Instead she molded it with her desires, made it stretch far up into the chimney, then spread out, puddled like water over the hearth.

She removed her kid boots and slid between the cold, slightly clammy sheets, moderately uncomfortable in her stays but unwilling to wait for her mother’s maid Mostyn to help her remove them.
Suppose I could summon and extinguish a fire so swiftly it could warm these sheets without scorching them?
That
would be a useful skill.

She lay on her back, staring at the ceiling, and went over the short list of uses for an Extraordinary Scorcher talent appropriate for a lady.
Putting out house fires. Lighting fires in the hearths. Lighting the stove when it goes out.
It was an extremely short list.
I suppose I could offer to light a gentleman guest’s pipe, but I can’t imagine why I would volunteer to make a pleasant room stink of tobacco.

She’d hoped to become a Speaker like her father and her sister Selina, years ago when everyone assumed she would manifest at eleven or twelve like anyone else of her social class. Elinor wished more than anything to have the talent to communicate by thought with her beloved older sister and dearest friend. But talent never came for the asking; her own situation was evidence enough of that.

Her father’s delight in her Extraordinary talent was understandable. Had she been a son, she would not have been nearly so valuable. It was illegal for a gentleman to purchase a bride for the sake of her talent, of course, but there was no law against a man presenting his new wife’s parents with a generous gift, and Elinor was certain any man her father considered suitable for her would feel very generous indeed.

But her father’s primary interest was in seeing her married well, which to him meant a nobleman with the right talent. Mr. Pembroke had spent a lifetime studying everything there was to know about talent—where it came from, how it manifested, but most importantly what children might result from the pairing of two particular talents. Elinor was certain when he contemplated her marriage, all his concern was for her potential offspring and where they might fit in the pages of the heavy folio Elinor thought of as his “breeding book.” Oh, yes. She was a valuable commodity.

A knock on the door was followed immediately by Mostyn, short and angular with her cap askew on her blonde hair, awkwardly carrying Elinor’s trunk and banging its corner against the door frame. “Excuse me, Miss Pembroke,” she said in her colorless voice. Elinor turned her face to the wall and pretended to sleep. She listened to Mostyn opening drawers and thumping the trunk lid, and eventually drifted into a genuine slumber.

“I don’t see,” said Amelia, her perfect rosy lips drawn up in a pout, “why I cannot go out in society as Elinor does. Why, you can bring two daughters out with very little more expense than one, and you will not have the burden of a second trip to London.” She leaned around the servant who was setting out dishes for the second course to plead with her mother with large, cerulean eyes.

“You are too young, my darling,” Mrs. Pembroke said. “You shall have your season in good time.”

“I shall be eighteen in two months. That is not such a vast gap. Papa, please do reconsider!”

“Your mother is right,” Mr. Pembroke said. “Besides, I am sure you don’t wish to share your sister’s attention.”

“She may have half the attention paid to me, and welcome to it,” Elinor said. She stirred green peas around the plate with her fork. Her stomach had not quite recovered from the lurching, jolting pace of the coach; her lack of appetite had nothing to do with her place at her father’s left hand, a new “honor” accorded her as an Extraordinary to which she was not yet accustomed. She would far have preferred her traditional seat by her mother, but her father was nothing if not committed to reminding her at every opportunity of her new status.

“Oh, Elinor, this will be
so
much more satisfying than your last visit to London!” Mrs. Pembroke said. “I assure you, social engagements are far more pleasant when you have plenty of admirers. And you will have so many admirers!”

“Yes, having a talent makes all the difference,” Amelia said with a sneer. Elinor smiled pleasantly at her and twitched her right hand. Amelia started back in her seat, clutching her knife as if to wield it against her sister. Elinor picked up her own knife and cut her meat. It was petty, tormenting Amelia with the threat of using her Scorcher talent against her, but Elinor had been the victim of her younger sister’s scorn for too many years to feel guilty about it.

“You need not fear, daughter,” Mr. Pembroke said. “True, you will be much courted, but you may count on me to keep the less desirable men away. I assure you, no one titled lower than an earl will approach you. My daughters deserve the best. Although I would not scoff at fifty thousand pounds a year!” Mr. Pembroke laughed, and Mrs. Pembroke and Amelia added their titters to his.

Elinor smiled politely and allowed her father to serve her another slice of ham. She thought of the pig who had died so they could enjoy it, and felt sympathy for it. If her father could hang a sign around her neck with her asking price and talent specifications on it, he would do it without a second thought.

“Have you Spoken with Selina, papa?” she asked, trying to turn the conversation elsewhere.

“She intends to call on us tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, Mr. Pembroke, but I intend to take Elinor shopping tomorrow! She requires almost an entirely new wardrobe.”

“We can go later in the day, mama.” Elinor said. “I do so want to see Selina. It seems forever since she last visited.”

“Four months is hardly forever,” Mr. Pembroke said, “but your affection for your sister is laudable.”

Mrs. Pembroke sighed dramatically. “Very well, Elinor, we shall postpone our trip, but I expect you to be cooperative. Our last visit to the warehouses was terribly disappointing.”

“Elinor is far too sober-minded to care about such things as gowns,” Amelia drawled. “I know I should make far better use of my time were I in her position.”

“Patience, my darling,” Mrs. Pembroke said, patting Amelia’s hand. “It will be your turn soon, and what fun we shall have!”

“I wish to see you in the study after dinner, Elinor,” Mr. Pembroke said. Elinor maintained a serene expression, but under the table her hands gripped her napkin and twisted, hard. “We should discuss how you will present yourself at Lord Ormerod’s ball in six days’ time.”

“I know how to behave in society, papa,” Elinor said.
Calm, placid, like a still pool.

“I have not forgotten how insipid you were when we first brought you to London, how little effort you made to encourage suitors,” Mr. Pembroke said. “I was willing to overlook your behavior then because you had so little to recommend you and were unlikely to receive an offer however you behaved. Things are different now. You have a desirable talent, and I will not see you squander this grand opportunity. Do you understand me?”

So little to recommend you
. Elinor’s stomach churned again. She clung to her outward serenity like a drowning man clutches a rope. “I understand you perfectly, papa,” she said. “I will submit to your instruction.”
And then I will ignore it. I may have an Extraordinary talent, but the law says I cannot be forced to marry against my will, and you, dear papa, have no idea what my will is like after living under your disdain for twenty-one years.
The brave thoughts faded away immediately. She tried to imagine herself saying such a thing to her father, but succeeded only in making herself feel more ill.

“Very well.” Mr. Pembroke smiled at Elinor and covered her hand with his; it took all the willpower she had not to jerk away from him and instead smile pleasantly back. “And don’t fear, Elinor. A Scorcher talent in a lady is undesirable, true, but it is well known that Scorchers produce powerful Bounders and Movers, and any nobleman wishing to better his fortunes would be a fool not to see your value. And an Extraordinary Scorcher talent—my dear, you are the only one of your kind in England, the only one in a century—do you not see how desirable that makes you? It is not beyond possibility that this time next year, we will be visiting London as the guests of our daughter, the Duchess!”

“And only think what you may do for your sister!” Mrs. Pembroke gasped. “Oh, Amelia, would you not like to be brought out by your sister?”

“She must marry first, mama,” Amelia said, glaring at Elinor. “It is a pity she is so plain. But then, I’ve heard good talent makes a lady beautiful beyond her birth.”

“It is a pity you have nothing more to recommend you than the face you have so carefully Shaped,” Elinor snapped. Amelia gasped, then broke into theatrical tears.

“For
shame
, Elinor,” Mrs. Pembroke said, and patted Amelia’s hand.

“And she is not to be reprimanded for commenting on my appearance?”

“Amelia is younger than you, and is still learning to curb her tongue. She lacks your self-control,” Mr. Pembroke said. “I expect you to behave with greater self-restraint.”

“Yes, papa,” Elinor said, casting her eyes down so he would not see her anger, but not without first flicking a quick glare at her sister, who went white.