Courtship and Curses (22 page)

Which was another matter, less worrisome but just as mysterious: Was her magic coming back at last? She had sensed the poison and destroyed the glass so quickly and easily—the spell had just rushed out of her, almost without conscious thought or intention,
almost as her magic had before her illness
. It made her want to bounce in her seat with excitement; as soon as she got home and was safely alone in her room, she would have to see what else she could do.

And then there was Peregrine … good heavens, her head was practically awhirl with it all. Would he come as soon as tomorrow to speak to Papa?

But on their arrival home, Amélie took her arm. “I know you have
un mal de tête
, Sophie. But I should like to speak with you for just a small moment before you retire,
s’il vous plaît
.”

Sophie’s heart sank, but she said, “Yes, of course.” On the way up the stairs, she again felt Amélie’s eyes on her, as she had in the carriage on the way home.

Once in Sophie’s room, though, Amélie seemed nervous and distracted, refusing a chair but setting her candle down and choosing to stand, fidgeting slightly—so not her usual calm, smiling self that Sophie asked, as she tossed her shawl on her bed and sat down at her dressing table, “Is there something wrong, Amélie?”

“Wrong? No … at least, I do not think, not yet.…” She pressed her lips together, as if to keep herself from saying more, then sighed. “
Ma chère
Sophie, may I ask you to make me a promise?”

Whatever she’d been expecting Amélie to say, it wasn’t this. “Er … what promise is that?”

She came to Sophie’s bench and knelt beside it, taking her hand. “That you will use at all times the canes Nalini and I have made for you. It is
very
important.”

Sophie blinked and looked at the cane she had carried tonight. It was one Aunt Isabel had given her a week or two ago, inspired perhaps by a desire not to be outdone by a mere houseguest, and was of wood and ivory inlay. “Of course I shall, if you wish, but may I ask why it is so important?”

Amélie hesitated. “It is … I am not sure that I am able to explain,
petite
. Will you just take my word for it that it is?”

It seemed an odd thing to ask, and yet Amélie had been so kind, so understanding, that it seemed churlish to demand an explanation. “If you wish it, then I will, Amélie.”

Amélie looked relieved and gave her hand a squeeze. “Thank you, Sophie. You set my mind at rest.” She stood up, then to Sophie’s surprise, bent and kissed her forehead. “Now,
petite
, to bed. It has been an evening
très occupé,
I am thinking.” She took up her candle and left the room.

Sophie sat for a moment after she left, thinking. That had been very strange—why should it be so important to Amélie that she use only her canes? She rose and went to the large brass umbrella stand she’d appropriated from the hall to store them in, and pulled one out at random—a delightful confection of woven pale blue and rose pink ribbon and tassels—then took it back with her and sat down to examine it more closely.

It looked perfectly ordinary. Poking the ribbon aside, she could see plain brown wood underneath it, and it had been perfectly serviceable when she had used it last. She examined it carefully, standing to lean all her weight on it, and sighting along it to make sure it was straight. It was. At last she laid it across her lap and closed her eyes as she ran her fingertips along its length … and there it was. A faint something—not quite a tingle, but something smoother, like brushing the surface of running water.

She sat staring at it for several minutes after that. Was that magic she felt? If so, it was unlike any other magic she’d felt before—and so subtle that she wasn’t even entirely sure it was there.

She set it aside abruptly and began to unpin her hair. But despite all the events of the evening—or more likely because of them—it was a long time before she could sleep.

*   *   *

Two days later, Sophie sent Parthenope an urgent note, summoning her to come over that afternoon if at all possible. Parthenope did not disappoint her. They were all in the drawing room when she arrived: Aunt Molly lay on the sofa, directing Sophie and Bunty as they crocheted soft woolen yarn into plant ties.

Parthenope crossed the room and knelt beside Aunt Molly, taking her good hand. “Out of bed so soon? You are a marvel, ma’am.”

Aunt Molly bridled. “Oh, no, not really. But I do have a very strong constitution, if I do say so myself. I think it comes of living in the country. Very salubrious air at my house, you know, and the flues draw wonderfully. I declare, if only my arm weren’t broken, I’d order my carriage this very minute and go back to Lilac Cottage, so I could recuperate in peace and quiet!”

“Flues.…” Parthenope tapped her chin in thought. “That reminds me. I can’t be
positive
, but I
did
think I smelled something not quite right coming from the direction of your conservatory when the footman let me in. Are the flues drawing well down there?”

Aunt Molly’s eyes widened. “Did you hear that, Bunty? I thought they were, but perhaps we had better go and see. My dwarf oranges are just fruiting!” She cast aside the rug tucked over her legs and gestured to Bunty, who scurried over and helped her to her feet, then supported her from the room.

Sophie regarded Parthenope. “You’re utterly shameless, you know.”

“If you’re going to make a cake, you’ve got to break some flour, or something like that.” Parthenope fixed her with an exasperated look as she took off her bonnet. “Now, what’s so vital that we discuss it today? I hope you don’t ever decide to take up espionage on a regular basis, you hulver-headed peagoose.”

“Why?”

“‘An afternoon of needlework,’ sent in your aunt’s name? Sophie, she’s got a broken arm. Just what will she be doing? Hemming petticoats with her toes? It’s a good thing Mama has a sense of humor and knew it was just an excuse for us to chat.”

Oh, drat. That had been careless, hadn’t it? “Well, never mind that now. Something very important’s happened.”

“I’d guessed.” Parthenope pulled a chair close to her and looked expectant. “It had better be good, though, if you want me to give over teasing you.”

“I don’t know that I’d call it good. Papa received an invitation from the Prince Regent yesterday. He’s holding a special reception at Carlton House for government members who are closely involved in the war effort.”

“Really.” One of Parthenope’s eyebrows rose.

“Yes. Papa and Lord Palmerston and all of them—”

Both eyebrows were up now. “All together at the Prince Regent’s house.”

“It’s the perfect opportunity for our assassin to do a great deal of harm.”

“Isn’t it, though?” Parthenope had lost her skeptical air and now looked excited. “You’re going, of course? All we have to do is figure out how to get me in. Perhaps I could disguise myself.… Hmm, can’t pass myself off as Amélie, too tall for that. Do you think I could pretend to be Aunt Molly if I put my arm in a sling and stooped a bit and … er, cut my hair and gained a couple of stone in the next week or so?”

Sophie laughed. “Don’t be silly. I’m sure I can persuade Papa to bring you as one of our party.”

“Yes, I suppose so. But it would have been much more fun to come in disguise.” She brightened. “Do you think I could bring Hester? He’d be very useful if we’re there to guard against magical attacks.”

“Parthenope, you
cannot
go to the Prince Regent’s party with a parakeet on your shoulder. Countess Lieven and Princess Esterhazy will be there, and you’d never get into Almack’s again if they saw Hester.”

Parthenope wrinkled her nose. “Why do you always have to be so practical?”

“One of us has to. That reminds me—I wish you’d brought Hester with you today.”

“I thought about it, but wasn’t sure Aunt Molly would approve. Why? Are you that fond of the wretched little thatchgallows?”

Sophie smiled. “What did he do to deserve being called that?”

“Took four or five bites out of a new chip bonnet I’d left on my bed. I came
this
close to wringing his little purple neck.” She held up her thumb and forefinger a hair’s breadth apart. “Want a new pet? I’m sure he’d do splendidly at keeping you entertained.”

“No, thank you. I shouldn’t like to deprive you of your bosom companion. But I would like him to have a look at this.” She held up the cane she’d examined the night Amélie visited her room.

Parthenope looked at it curiously. “Is it new?”

“No, just one Amélie and her maid Nalini made.”

“It’s splendid, but why do you want to have Hester look at it? Do you think there’s magic in it?”

“I don’t know,” Sophie said slowly. “That’s why I’d like Hester’s opinion. There’s something odd about it—about all of the ones they made me—a very faint feeling that might be magic, but if it is, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. It could be I’m imagining things—”

“Who’s imagining things?” Aunt Molly came in, followed by Bunty, who was holding her hands behind her back. “Certainly not you, my dear,” she said to Parthenope. “My gracious, I’m so glad you’ve such a sensitive nose!”

Parthenope looked stunned. “The flues? There
was
something wrong with them?”

“No, not at all, though I can perfectly understand the confusion. No, the coal wagon had just made a delivery, which is probably what you smelled. But I did find that Bunty had neglected to open the ventilation window this morning, and it would have gotten far too warm in there and blasted my oranges. So I thought, well, if anyone deserved a reward, it was you. Close your eyes and hold out your hands!” She motioned for Bunty to sidle over to them, still keeping her hands behind her back.

“Er…” For once, Parthenope seemed bereft of words.

“I insist!” Aunt Molly was beaming.

“Is one of the orchids in bloom?” Sophie asked, trying not to laugh.

“Even better! Come along, child,” Aunt Molly urged.

Parthenope said something under her breath that Sophie didn’t quite catch, closed her eyes, and held out her hands. Bunty turned slightly, so that Sophie couldn’t see what it was she was putting into Parthenope’s hands. Then Parthenope exclaimed, “What the deuce!” and Bunty stepped aside.

Parthenope was still seated, her face a study in consternation and her hands cradling a large, perfectly formed pineapple.

“There!” Aunt Molly said, beaming. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“It’s
dripping
on my dress!” Parthenope’s voice came out somewhere between a squeak and a moan.

“That’s hardly surprising. Bunty just cut it from its stalk. Don’t worry, it will wash out of that muslin without a bit of bother. Unless…” Aunt Molly suddenly looked uncertain. “Don’t you
like
pineapple?”

Parthenope took a deep breath. Sophie could almost see her light upon and reject half a dozen sarcastic answers to the question. “I adore pineapple,” she finally said. “Would it be possible to have someone put it in a basket for me to take home?”

As soon as Aunt Molly and Bunty had left the room again with the offending fruit, Parthenope collapsed back in her chair with a gusty sigh. “If it hadn’t been your aunt, I don’t think I could have done that.”

“I was lost in admiration of your self-control.”

“Fiddlesticks. You came within inches of laughing like a hyena, and you know it.” She gazed down at the sticky juice dribbles on her lap. “I wish your magic were working reliably. Then at least you could have wiped that grin off your face and got rid of these for me, Madame Witch.”

Sophie gave her a haughty look and brushed her fingers across one of the dribbles. It vanished.

“Sophie!” Parthenope looked almost as thunderstruck as she had when Bunty gave her the pineapple. “You—you did it just like that!”

“Yes, I know,” Sophie replied, trying to sound bored. She pulled out her handkerchief and transferred the stain to it.

“But—last time you had to try like anything. Is your magic working again?”

It was becoming too hard to restrain her glee. “I think it is. Ever since the other night when I broke Papa’s glass with the poison in it, I’ve been able to do more and more. Look!”

She tossed her handkerchief into the air and whispered a word. It vanished.

Parthenope blinked at the space where it had been. “What did you do with it?”

“Look beneath you,” Sophie said, smugly.

Parthenope twitched aside, then lifted the hem of her gown. “I don’t see it.”

“Stand up.”

Parthenope did, and looked behind her at the seat of her chair. A handkerchief marked with Sophie’s initials was there. She picked it up and touched the fresh pineapple juice stain on it, then regarded her with narrowed eyes. “Hmm.”

“What?”

“I find it very interesting that your magic reappeared when it did.”

“In time to save my father?”

“I think saving your father was coincidental. So has Perry called recently?”

Sophie felt her face grow warm. “What does that have to do with my magic?”

“Everything, possibly.” Parthenope leaned forward. “He spoke to you that night, didn’t he? He asked you if you would not mind if he spoke to your father about paying his formal addresses to you, yes?”

“Parthenope, that’s—”

“Humor me. I’m trying to make a point.”

Sophie relented. “Well, yes.”

“Aha! And what did you tell him? Never mind—you’re blushing like a beet.” Parthenope grinned. “I knew we should be cousins someday! Anyway, don’t you find it interesting that your magic should suddenly come back the very night my cousin as good as proposes to you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that, just maybe, part of your problem with your magic is dependent on how you feel. When Perry spoke to you, were you happy or not?”

“Do you want the rest of this pineapple off your dress or not?”

Parthenope laughed. “Very well! I concede. But I still think I’m right. Here.” She held the skirt of her dress stretched out so that Sophie could remove the sticky pineapple sap more easily. “She doesn’t have a whole pinery in there, does she? I won’t have to go through this again?”