Arcana (9 page)

The trod of horse hooves alerts me to someone’s presence, but I am loath to turn around.

“You would do well not to get too close to the water,” a man’s voice says behind me. “Many have drowned before.”

I turn and shield my eyes with my hand. I have to look up to see him as he is astride a lovely bay mount. “My lord,” I say and drop into a curtsy. “You are concerned for my safety?”

That came out more flirtatious than I intended, and I watch a grin bloom across his face. In one smooth movement, he dismounts from his horse. His gaze rakes over my appearance; I try to ignore the effect it has coupled with his equally dark hair and eyes, but it still accelerates my heart more than I would like. I frown up at him.

“Well imagine how horrifying it would be if I were to witness such a thing,” he says. “I would undoubtedly have to go in and save you. We’d both catch cold, and then it would all be for naught.”

“How morbid you are. Can I not enjoy the view?”

He ignores my question and peers around. “Where is your mount? Or carriage?”

“Perhaps I walked here,” I say, my voice betraying my irritation at his abrupt subject change.

“Don’t play coy, Miss Sinclair.” His grip must tighten on the reins because his horse tosses his head in protest. “Do you need an escort? This park is well attended, but there are areas that can be rather . . . unsavory.”

“No, I came with my grandmother.” I look back at the shimmering water. “I just wanted a chance to walk.”

His horse lets out a loud snort and stamps his hoof, and out of reflex, I reach out to stroke his neck.

“Don’t—” the earl calls out, but cuts himself off when his horse drops his head and allows me to stroke his velvety nose.

I meet the earl’s look of surprise.

“I was going to say he has a temper,” he says, “but I can see it was an unnecessary warning.”

I withdraw my hand and laugh when his horse seeks it out again with his nose. “I’m just used to my own horses. They can be temperamental, too. I wish I had one or two here with me. My grandmother’s are too sedate for my tastes.”

Lord Thornewood’s eyebrows raise and he smirks at me. “Indeed? You like a mount with more fire?”

“I wouldn’t describe them so, but I do like a horse that enjoys a faster pace than a trot.”

“I cannot believe I’m discussing horses with a lady. You haven’t yet learned the infuriating female art of small talk, I take it.”

I tilt my head at him. “Does my having an opinion on something other than the weather or the latest fashion intimidate you, my lord? If so, I apologize. I shall endeavor to dumb down my conversation posthaste.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I drop my eyes to the horse’s nose. What is wrong with me? How could I speak in such a thoughtless manner to an earl of all people?

To my surprise, he laughs, the sound delightfully rich. “You have a fascinating manner of speaking, Miss Sinclair. I cannot wait for your coming out. Society won’t know what to make of you.”

“I was under the impression society does not look kindly upon those who do not follow their rules.”

“They
say
that, yes.” He leans closer to me. “But secretly, it fascinates them.”

“That is very good to know since I would like to avoid excessive attention.”

And I’ve said too much again. What debutante wants to
avoid
attention? Preposterous. I shouldn’t be allowed to speak.

His eyes appraise me. “I very much doubt you will be able to avoid it. Perhaps if you avoid singing, playing the piano, or speaking.”

Before I can answer, two ladies call out to Lord Thornewood on their way down to the river. They are both dressed in crisp white blouses, dark skirts, and corresponding embroidered jackets. They walk with mincing ladylike steps, and though I am wearing an equally expensive outfit, I still feel out of place.

“My lord,” the one with hair nearly the same color as my own says, “how fortuitous of us to stumble upon you here. I don’t believe I have ever seen you at Hyde Park.” Her eyes dart from his face to mine, and I can see she very much wants to ask who I am and why we are alone talking by the river, but to do so would be impolite. In any case, it’s hardly my fault no one else is around.

“Good morning, Miss Gray. Miss Uppington.” He holds a gloved hand toward me. “Allow me to do the honor of presenting the Honorable Katherine Sinclair, here in town for her debut.”

We face each other and sink into curtsies. As we are all around the same age, they give me their first names as well: Miss Eliza Gray and Miss Amelia Uppington.

“Did you just come to town?” Eliza, the one who first addressed the earl, asks.

“Yes, my grandmother was kind enough to invite me here for the season.”

“I know of Lady Sinclair,” Amelia says with a smile. She has a heart-shaped face and dark hair, and she seems the more approachable of the two. “She is a very dear friend of my aunt’s.”

“And when will you have your debut?” Eliza asks, though it seems she has a difficult time keeping her eyes on my face when Lord Thornewood is much more interesting to look at.

“Wednesday next,” I say, and her eyes dart to mine.

“Where did you say you were from?” she asks, sharply.

“I didn’t,” I say.

Her friend giggles nervously. “We will both be debuting then as well.”

Eliza puts a gloved finger to her chin. “I seem to remember a Lady Sinclair who is a rather upstanding member of the peerage.”

“She’s her grandmother,” Amelia says.

“Ah,” Eliza says, “she must have arranged for your debut then.”

I open my mouth to retort, but she turns to Lord Thornewood. “My lord, I hope you will be in attendance at Duchess Cecily’s ball next Wednesday.”

He looks at me when he answers. “Yes.”

Her eyes narrow, and I find myself stiffening in response. “Now that I think of it,” she says, “I believe I heard talk about town of a Miss Sinclair from Gloucestershire.”

I don’t like the idea of anyone in London talking about me, especially after what poor Margaret witnessed just a few days ago. “My father’s estate is located in Gloucestershire,” I say in as neutral a tone as I can manage.

“Indeed? Well, then, you must be the country beauty I heard talk of.” She casts her eyes over my dress as though appraising whether this is true.

“How very kind,” I say.

Eliza turns to Amelia. “But what else did we hear? Something about a girl who has become so headstrong, her father sent her to London because not even the country gentlemen would have her.” She laughs humorlessly, her eyes trained on mine. “But that must have been a different girl from Gloucestershire as the one who stands before us is so well-turned out, there can be no doubt of her gentle upbringing.”

If I were one of my father’s hounds, my hackles would be standing on end. I cannot imagine what I did to deserve such animosity from this perfect stranger. I glance at the earl, whose mouth is turned down in an irritated frown, though whether it is directed at Eliza or the gossip she deposited at our feet, I’m not sure.

I smile as though she’s said something amusing. “Perhaps. Though I’m not sure
headstrong
would be such a terrible insult. I find it is much preferred to that of a vapid gossipmonger.”

The earl lets out a noise somewhere between a snort and a cough. His frown has been replaced with bright amusement in his eyes, but I cannot even enjoy it. My body thrums with nervous energy. I’ve wielded my tongue like a sword, and I know I have yet to pay the consequences.

Eliza makes a sniffing sound and turns to Amelia. “We should continue our walk. I believe we have trespassed on his lordship and Katherine’s private conversation.”

“We weren’t—” I start.

“It was nice to make your acquaintance, Katherine,” Eliza says. “I look forward to seeing you again soon.”

My eyes narrow at her back as she walks away. If anyone I’ve met so far is a member of the Order, it’s Eliza. Why else would she hate me on sight? Though if that’s the caliber of its members, I fear my mother worried herself for nothing.

“My dear Miss Sinclair,” the earl says, his tone steeped with regret, “as amusing as that was, I do believe you’ve made yourself your first enemy.”

SIX

T
HE
rest of the week is unbearably dull, and yet busy at the same time. After that day in the park, I haven’t seen Lord Thornewood, even at the evening suppers. The fact that he has disappeared from society is worrisome. It seems just the thing someone would do if he were from the Order my mother warned me of. A sickening feeling of dread fills me. Not only is the success of my debut dependent upon his good name, but I also cannot deny the attraction I have for him. Surely fate would not be so cruel as to curse me with an irrepressible fascination with the man.

“Pardon me, milady,” Mary says as she enters the room. “A letter just arrived from Oxford.”

“Oh, it must be from Robert,” I say and reach eagerly for the letter. “Thank you.”

She bobs a curtsy and leaves me at the desk to read. My eyes scan through it first. I want to be sure he is coming for my debut. Once I see he is and will be arriving later today, I read it again, slowly. The letter is short, mostly well-wishes and tales of outings with his friends, and it only makes me miss him more.

I carry the letter upstairs and glance in Lucy’s room, but she must still be with Miss Watts. As I walk into my room, I see my mother’s journal glowing softly on a chair near my bed.

I rush over and open it with such eagerness I nearly drop it.

Tears fill my eyes, and I slam the book closed. Her words are so beautiful. The pain cuts through me like a dagger. At least I know to whom this letter refers—Eliza and girls like her.

I’ve seen her once or twice since that day in the park, and though she was careful not to shun me in front of Grandmama, her demeanor was undoubtedly cold. Though I watched her carefully, she never gave a hint of knowing the truth about me. But of course, I’m not entirely sure what to watch for. I can only imagine what it will be like when we are in each other’s company every night at the balls.

The soft glow of the journal draws my attention once again. Strange, since it usually fades once I’ve read the entry.

I open it and reread my mother’s words. When I get to the bottom of the page, I find the reason for the glow. Another rune. My finger hovers over it. I should run and find Lucy; she could tell me its meaning. It’s shaped like an hourglass tipped on its side, but I know it must represent something else. In the end, I cannot resist the possibility of seeing more of Mama’s realm.

I touch the rune.

A surge of energy, and then my room in London disappears. In its place is a rocky countryside. The sky is gray overhead, with still darker clouds threatening to release a tumult of rain. In the distance, a rock formation looms.

Katherine,
a voice whispers in my mind.

The fox with the turquoise eyes moves into view. It starts to move away, only to stop and look back again. I make the decision to follow, and once I do, I’m transported forward until a pile of jagged rock stands overhead. The rocks form a bridge of sort, cut by centuries of wind and rain.

Here,
the voice says.