Wilful Impropriety (8 page)

Even as Agatha started to shrink, she remembered that warm, delighted voice.
Who was mad enough to call you unattractive?

Of course Isobel had only seen her for a moment in the doorway—the words meant nothing, really, not when she thought logically about them. Isobel might well change her mind in the light of day. But still . . .

Agatha’s chin lifted. “The law may not allow me to choose a husband without my father’s consent,” she said, “but you cannot force me to marry against my will. I will say ‘no’ all the way to the altar itself.”

“Now, my darling girl.” Her aunt sank down in front of the blazing fire, as Miss Blenheim wrapped the dressing gown around her solicitously. Tucking her chin into the lush fur collar, Clarisse said, “I believe it is time for you to understand the truth about the women of our family.”

As Agatha saw her aunt shiver and lean into the fire, her newly wakened senses grated at her.

“It’s as hot as a furnace in here,” she said. “Why are you wrapping yourself up so tightly?” She frowned, thinking back. “You always do, don’t you?”

Miss Blenheim’s lips curled as she leaned over to stoke the fire higher. “It took you this long to notice, miss?”

“Now, Blennie. I told you she must be clever enough to put together the pieces eventually, did I not?” Clarisse gave her niece an unfriendly smile. “Well done, my dear. But I would attempt a bit more compassion, as you’ll be sharing my condition yourself soon enough.”

“What do you mean?”

Clarisse rolled her eyes. “Why do you think all your little magical experiments at Tremain House were so successful?”

Caught off guard, Agatha answered with involuntary honesty: “Because I had nothing and no one to distract me from my studies. They’re the only thing I’ve ever been good at.” Then she felt herself flush, as she realized the truth of it . . . and exactly who she’d said it to, as Miss Blenheim let out a soft snort of contempt.

Still, it was true, wasn’t it? And it had been all she’d wanted . . . or all that she’d allowed herself to want, at least. She frowned.

She had believed all that Miss Blenheim had told her about herself. She’d sworn never to be humiliated again by trying for anything she couldn’t have.

Agatha remembered again Isobel’s warm voice; the soft breath whispering across her mouth.

I can have more
, she thought suddenly.
I can believe what I want about myself. I don’t have to settle for less
.

But her aunt regarded her with a jaundiced eye. “It is all that makes you valuable, I agree,” said Clarisse. “But then, you are a Tremain female, and that means you have an affinity for magic, just as I have, and my aunt and my grandmother before me. How do you think your great-grandfather acquired Tremain House and all his fortune in the first place? That is why you have a duty to the family to marry, for the sake of your older female relatives. It is why a particular sort of gentleman will pay so well for the privilege of having you to wife, and it is why you
will
marry, dear girl, whether you like it or not, and you will marry with some speed, too. It is your turn now to step into the breach, and I have waited quite long enough for a younger Tremain female to finally pay me back what I am owed.”

“For what?” Agatha gaped at her. “What have you ever done for me?”

“It is the sacrifice every female in our family has to pay,” said Clarisse. “Magic ripples through our veins, you see. If you were a man, you could make use of it. As a woman, you were born to be a source of power, just as I was for far too many years to contemplate. But just think . . .” She gave Agatha a look of mock sympathy. “Your husband may make marvelous advances for the British Empire using the power he draws from you. In return, he will give me what I need with the first magic he extracts. And then . . .” She sighed, leaning closer to the fire. “I shall never be cold again.”

Agatha’s head spun with more than the heat of the room now. She held still, refusing to retreat. “Why can’t you take for yourself what you need? Why do you need my future husband to do it?”

“Because those spells are never taught to women,” said Clarisse wearily. “You’ve never come across them in your father’s library, have you? No, Jasper may be the most useless and impractical creature ever born, but even he is not so careless as to allow any of those texts to be kept in public view on his shelves.

“But none of that matters now.” Clarisse shook her head dismissively. “All you need to understand, dear, is that my magic was drained out of me over and over again across the years while my husband rose ever higher in the Austro-Hungarian court. Simply dismissing your creatures from Tremain House took nearly all that I had left.” Her lips curled into a smile. “Nearly . . . but not all.”

Slowly, sinuously, she rose to her feet, while Miss Blenheim smiled behind her, a smile of deep satisfaction.

“I have been waiting for this day for two long years, miss,” said Miss Blenheim. “Did you really think you could dismiss me so easily? Knowing all that I do about you and your family?”

Agatha could only shake her head numbly.

“It was tremendously helpful of you to keep all your books and supplies so carefully organized in your little office,” Clarisse said. “When combined with the supplies that my dear Blennie found for me in Vienna, I am more than prepared to take on this last spell. And I think we can agree, can we not, that I am the only person in this room with both magical power
and
the spells and supplies that are needed for it?”

Agatha looked from her aunt to Miss Blenheim. Her chest tightened.

She had wanted so badly to believe herself free.

“What are you planning?” she asked, through dry lips.

“That,” said Clarisse, “is entirely up to you. If you are a good girl and follow your part in the plan, like every Tremain girl has before you for the past hundred years, I won’t need to do a thing—and you may have your payment in return as soon as your own daughter is old enough to be sacrificed.

“If not, though . . .” She shrugged gently. “I have both the supplies and the spellbooks to make you mouth any words I wish until you are safely wed and drained. I could not care less which choice you make.”

Agatha stared at her aunt’s face, so similar in shape to her own father’s. “And you would really do that to me, after everything that was done to you?”

Her aunt’s blue eyes were as cold and hard as sapphires. “My darling niece,” she said. “I would do anything, and sacrifice anyone, only to be warm again. In twenty years, I daresay you will feel exactly the same.”

Bright, hard flames leaped in the fireplace, and Agatha tasted the bitterness of defeat. If only she had managed to salvage a single grimoire, a single sanctioned brazier . . .

Wait
. She closed her eyes. Suddenly, with the flames shut out, she was in the darkness again. And in that darkness, she was not alone.

She heard Isobel’s laugh echoing in her ears.
Who told you that?

Agatha had always believed she could do magic only by mouthing an expert’s words. But Clarisse said magic rippled in her veins . . . and unlike her aunt, great-aunt, or grandmother, she had been allowed to devote two full years, as an unmarried girl, to the uninterrupted study of her father’s grimoires. She understood the very essence of the spells she had performed, better than any Tremain girl before her.

Sparks ran up and down Agatha’s skin, and this time, she knew that Isobel had been right. The sparks were magic—
her
magic, sparking through her. Her own personal magic, which she had never believed in until tonight.

Her magic, which she would never allow anyone to take away from her again.

“This is an Age of Progress,” she said. “Things are changing for all of us, now. We don’t have to follow the old ways anymore.”

She opened her eyes and looked from her aunt to Miss Blenheim. “Do you know what the last spell was that I worked on, back at Tremain House?”

Clarisse frowned. “I can’t imagine that it would be relevant, dear.”

Miss Blenheim sneered. “Do you think we care about any of your little games, miss?”

“No,” Agatha said. “But I’ll tell you anyway . . .”

She smiled as she finished: “Transformation.”

She lifted her arms and magic swept out from them, changing the world around her.

•   •   •

The Tennants’ ball was packed with ladies in sparkling diamond tiaras, ropes of pearls, and gowns that swirled across the crowded floor. Footmen bellowed out the names of each new arrival. Officers smiled down at admiring girls, and black-coated gentlemen swept their dance partners around the room.

Agatha ignored them all. Whispers rustled around her as she forced her way, unchaperoned, through the crowd, but she barely even noticed.

Her hair was pinned into a plain bun with no ringlets or waves. It was all that she could manage without the help of a maid. Her corset was undoubtedly laced too loosely for an absolutely perfect waist, and her new blue gown didn’t fit as well as it had in the modiste’s fitting room.

In the dark, though, none of that would matter. If only she was still in time . . .

She stepped into the ladies’ retiring room and forced herself to wait for the giggling, excited crowd of other girls to finish fixing their appearances. The moment the door to the main corridor closed behind them, she pressed her hand to the crack she had glimpsed in the flowered wallpaper. More female voices were coming down the corridor. She rushed headlong into the darkness before they could arrive.

Warm, ungloved hands caught her, and pressed the hidden door shut behind her.

“You came!” Isobel said.

“You waited,” said Agatha.

“I’ve been waiting for an hour,” Isobel said, so softly that Agatha could barely hear her. “I had to take off my gloves after the first half-hour—it’s so hot in here. Mrs. Stanhope probably thinks I’ve run away by now. I suppose it was silly to hope you would really come, but—”

“I hope you will run away from Mrs. Stanhope,” Agatha said. “I mean . . .” She stopped, gathering her breath. Her corset laces might be loose, but she still felt lightheaded. She was gasping for air. She could feel Isobel only inches away; could feel their heavy skirts brushing against each other.

She had never been so frightened in her life. But she couldn’t give up now.

“I’m going back to Tremain House,” she said. “I hoped . . . will you come with me? Please?”

There was a pause. Agatha couldn’t see Isobel’s face, couldn’t guess at her expression.

“When you say I should come with you,” Isobel finally said, “do you mean as a companion? As I am to Mrs. Stanhope?”

Agatha swallowed hard. “If you want,” she said. “That is, I could do with a friend, and a companion. I think I’ve spent too much time alone. But also . . .”

She closed her eyes in the darkness.

She had sworn never to humiliate herself by asking for what she couldn’t have. But she had also made a vow to never hide again.

Agatha leaned forward, holding her breath.

Isobel’s lips were soft and full.

Magic sparked between them.

A long time later, Agatha drew back. She was breathing quickly now, flushed with a warmth that left her unsteady. She wanted to laugh, or cry, or dance in the darkness. She forced herself to hold perfectly still instead as she waited for Isobel’s reaction.

“Well,” Isobel said consideringly, “in that case . . .” She laughed suddenly, and her voice was bright with joy. “Yes. Yes, yes, yes!”

“Really?” Agatha caught hold of the rough wall to support herself as her legs turned limp with relief. “You’ll really come? You really want to . . .”

“Well,” Isobel said teasingly, “as a committed naturalist, you know, I can’t take any of my first observations on faith. So perhaps . . .” Her warm, bare fingers curled around the nape of Agatha’s neck, her words whispered against Agatha’s lips. “Perhaps I ought to repeat the experiment one more time, for Science’s sake. And then again, and again, and again . . .”

•   •   •

Even Sir Jasper seemed pleased, in a vague sort of way, to learn that Agatha had brought Miss Cunningham home for good.

“Good for a young girl to have someone to talk to, isn’t it?” he said. “She seems like a very decent companion for you, my dear. Very quiet. Doesn’t bother a fellow in his library. Understands that it’s the right place for a man to take his meals.” He beamed, settling more comfortably into his armchair. “Thank goodness Clarisse gave up and took herself off, so we can all be comfortable again. Did she go back to Vienna, did you say? Or was it Paris this time?”

“Somewhere warm, I believe,” said Agatha. “I’m certain she’ll be happier now.”

“Yes, yes,” Sir Jasper said. “I’m sure you’re right, my dear. But you brought back a set of animals from London, too, you say? What on earth did you do that for?”

“Only two animals, Papa,” said Agatha, “and they won’t bother you, I promise.”

“Oh, no,” Sir Jasper said, sinking back into his book with relief. “No, I am quite sure of that.”

Agatha closed the library door behind her and went, with a spring in her step, to find Isobel. Her dearest friend would be walking in the woods at this time of day, as she did every morning while Agatha worked on her own magical studies; the woods of the Tremain estate were apparently bursting with interesting animal life.