Betraying Season (23 page)

He stared down at her, and she saw the same happiness in his eyes. She pressed her hand against his chest before he could kiss her again. “No, wait. Before you say anything, there’s something I need to tell you. About me. It wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t.”

He raised an eyebrow and pretended to think. “Hmm, let me guess. . . . You love me, but you’ve already accepted a post as Johnny Whelan’s nanny?”

“Stop that, you goose. I’m serious.” She glanced behind her. Good; a couple of extra chairs were set against the wall. “Might we sit down? This may take a few moments.”

“Yes . . . if we must.” Niall stole one more kiss, then released her with a reluctance that made her heart sing. When they were seated, he leaned forward and took her hand. “What is it, sweetheart?”

Pen looked at his eager expression and more-than-slightly mussed hair—goodness, had she done that to him? She’d always wanted to touch it, and it had felt so wonderful under her fingers,
thick and soft. . . . She tore her attention away from it and took a deep breath.

She had made the resolution last summer, after Persy and Lochinvar’s engagement, that she would not find herself caught in the same situation that Persy had: being afraid to admit her powers. It meant breaking the rule of secrecy Ally had taught her so many years ago, but sometimes rules had to be broken.

But drat it, how should she say this? Why hadn’t she spent any time rehearsing this speech, once she’d decided it was a necessity? She cleared her throat. “Um . . .”

“Please go on. I’ll listen to anything you have to tell me,” he prompted.

“Oh. Good. Well, then.” She paused, then took another deep breath. The only way to get this done was to do it. “Well, it’s just that . . . I’m a witch.”

He blinked and looked at her, his expression blank. “Oh.”

Oh?
Was that all? Was that his only reaction? “No, really I am. I do magic. That’s why I came to Ireland—so I could keep studying with Ally. She’s a witch, too. She taught Persy and me, only Persy was better than I was, and now I have to play catch-up. Fortunately, the Carrighars—” She stopped. Oh, drat again, she’d have to tell everything, wouldn’t she? “Fortunately, Dr. Carrighar has been able to continue to teach me during Ally’s illness—he tutors in magic as well, but you mustn’t
ever
tell anyone.”

Niall didn’t say anything, but stared down at their clasped hands. A muscle over his right eyebrow twitched. How should she interpret that? Was he angry? Repulsed? Or just struggling to understand? But she couldn’t stop now to puzzle it out.

“And I decided that I had to tell you now, even though as a rule
witches never tell anyone, because last year my sister and her husband—well, before he was her husband—she was afraid he wouldn’t love her if he knew she was a witch, and I didn’t want to ever have the same problem. So I’m telling you now, because I—because I do love you.” She took a deep breath and met his eyes. Had that made any sense? “Can you still love me, knowing this?”

“Pen.” At last his face came alive . . . with a smile.

She felt almost dizzy with relief. “It’s all right? You don’t mind?”

“No, I don’t mind. I don’t mind at all. It’s—it’s amazing, and wonderful, and . . . and
you.
And”—he hesitated—“and maybe not as shocking as you think it might be. Ireland is not like the rest of the world. I learned that much from my travels.” He reached up with one hand and caressed her cheek. “I always thought you were bewitching. I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Oh, Niall.” Another burst of happiness threatened to overwhelm her, this time with tears. “I was worried that it wouldn’t be all right.” She turned her face and kissed his hand. He was taking it so calmly, so well. She was the luckiest girl in the world. “You don’t know what a relief this is, in all sorts of ways. I don’t have Persy to talk to anymore about it, but now I’ll have you.”

“To talk to about what?”

She looked down at their clasped hands. “Do you know what it’s like to be so different from everyone else and to have to always conceal that difference? Can you guess how lonely a feeling that can be?”

“I—no, I never thought about it that way,” he said slowly.

Should she show him? Why not? She looked up and met his eyes, took a breath and willed herself to rise until she hovered, still seated and holding his hand, a foot above the parquet floor.

He stared at her, and though he looked a little pale did not otherwise seem alarmed.

“Do you see?” she asked, coming down with a slight bump. “It’s like being the only lark in a room full of chickens. The thing is, Persy’s been able to do that since we were ten. I just finally mastered doing it without having to hold my breath and scrunch my face up last year. Ask Ally.” Dear heaven, it felt so good to talk about all this at last! “When we arrived in London for our coming out last year, Ally disappeared and we had to rescue her. Only Persy ended up doing all the real work keeping the princess safe—”

“The princess?” His voice sharpened with interest. “Which princess?”

Well, she
would
have to tell all, wouldn’t she? “Victoria, of course. Oh, Niall, it was dreadful. Someone was trying to gain control of her and needed to use other people’s magic in order to do it. Ally was one of those people, and Persy and me too, except that Persy rescued us all. After Victoria became queen, she invited us to tea—do you know what that was like? Persy and I have loved her all our lives—we have the same birthday as she does, even—and to know that we, well, Persy, kept her safe. . . .” She realized that she was probably beginning to sound slightly incoherent, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Anyway, she invited us to tea to tell us that she had created a secret order for people who worked on her behalf using magic. We decided to call it DASH—Dames at Service to Her Majesty—and Persy and I received the first awards, only it was really Persy who deserved it, not me. If I had learned what I should have, I wouldn’t have gotten caught in a magical trap and Persy wouldn’t have had to save us all by herself. So when Ally got married and moved to Ireland, I decided to skip the season and come with her so
that I could concentrate on becoming a better witch. It’s why I was cross with you sometimes—I knew I was falling in love with you, and I didn’t want it to distract me from working if you weren’t going to . . . to love me too.” There. She’d said it all.

He raised one of her hands to his lips. “I’m sorry, Pen. I wasn’t sure if I should, because you seemed so serious about your studies. And as far as being a witch goes, I don’t care if you turn into a giant green parrot at the full moon and spend your nights perched on the dome of St. Paul’s gossiping with the pigeons, if that makes you happy. You’re perfect just the way you are. Perfect for
me
.”

She laughed. The sound suddenly seemed unnaturally loud, and after a second she realized why. While they had been behind this screen, totally absorbed in each other, the dancers had left for the supper break. From the quality of the silence, it sounded as though even the musicians had left.

“We should probably go before we’re missed,” she said, rising reluctantly. “This isn’t a large enough party for us to disappear completely.”

“More’s the pity, but you’re right.” Niall rose too, but took her hand. “One more?” he asked, almost shyly.

She would have promised him a thousand more, but well-brought-up girls didn’t say such things. Well-brought-up girls didn’t usually kiss men they weren’t related to, either, but right now she didn’t care. She nodded and raised her face to his. He kissed her gently this time, with a careful respect that spoke more than words. Then he held out his arm to her, and they left the shelter of the screen.

The room was deserted, and the musicians’ instruments lay silent on their chairs in the far corner. A lively hum of laughter and
conversation drifted up the stairs from the dining room below, filling the empty room with a ghost of gaiety.

No, not entirely empty. There was sudden movement near the door. As Pen blinked, Lady Keating rose from a chair behind one of the half-closed doors, gave them a radiant smile, and disappeared into the hall ahead of them.

Back at home later that night, Niall strode purposefully down the carpeted corridor to his mother’s room. He hadn’t bothered changing out of his evening clothes. The memory of Pen pressed against the waistcoat he still wore was like a good luck talisman. He couldn’t help suspecting he’d need all the luck and moral support he could get when he confronted Mother.

What would she say when he told her that he’d succeeded in making Pen love him, but that he loved her too? She’d have to give up her dreams of marrying him off to a German princess or whomever, because if he was going to ask Pen to marry him, then he was going to keep that pledge. And if he didn’t ask Pen to marry him, then Mother wouldn’t be able to do her magic to bring him and the duke together. It would be Pen or no one.

Not that he’d had a chance to ask Pen tonight if she would marry him—it had been enough for tonight to admit their feelings for each other. Tomorrow, as soon as it was a decent hour to pay a call, he’d go to the Carrighars’ and ask Pen if he could write to her father to state his intentions. He’d have to write to Papa, too, and maybe go to see him at Loughglass. Surely Papa would approve of Pen. Besides, if Papa gave his blessing to him and Pen, then there was little Mother could do to stop them.

Publicly, anyway.

Niall put that thought resolutely aside.

What about Pen’s friendship with the queen? Couldn’t they use that, somehow, to introduce him to the duke? The duke was the queen’s uncle, after all, and her heir until she married and had children. Surely a quiet word or two in the right ears could accomplish the same thing as Mother’s spells and rituals. It would be amusing to explain to Mother that she had indeed chosen Pen well—just not for the reason she’d originally thought. Oh, it would all work out after all. He’d have Pen, and Mother would see her dream realized without any subterfuge or trickery. He grinned to himself and nearly skipped the last few feet to Mother’s room.

Outside her door, he paused to collect himself. Cool and calm, that was the best way to face Mother. And maybe she wouldn’t be against him marrying Pen after all. She and Pen had become close; he’d seen her look at Pen sometimes with something in her eyes that wasn’t entirely scheming and predatory. Had his sweet Pen charmed her too?

He smiled and brushed his hand across his waistcoat again, then raised his hand to knock. A low laugh startled him.

“Mother?” he said, turning.

But the hall behind him was empty.

Then the laugh sounded again, and he realized it came from inside Mother’s room.

“I wish I’d seen Charlotte’s face when you made her petticoats fall,” he heard someone say, giggling. It was Doireann. “Jolly good way to get her off poor Niall. I’ll bet she doesn’t show her face in public for a month.”

“It was the only way I could pry the hussy off him, since he was being too polite to shake her and do what he was supposed to be
doing with Miss Leland. Once she left, though, he seemed to make up for lost time. They emerged from behind a screen after everyone had gone into supper, and she looked downright starry-eyed. I tried to get a report from him on the drive home, but he was being unwontedly quiet.” Mother’s voice was briskly pleased, as if she’d just crossed several items off a long list of tasks.

“Hah. Was Niall looking starry-eyed too?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He knows better than that. Now, I’ve already invited her to Bandry Court and she seemed willing to come. It’s time we finished up our preparations for the
draiocht.
We need to have it down perfectly so that we can do our parts and still manage her. Have you been studying your incantations?”

He smiled to himself and reached for the latch handle. This seemed like a good time to interrupt. He’d throw open the door and say, “Don’t bother. I’ve got a better way to get to the duke.”

“Yes, yes,” Doireann said crossly. “Really, Mother, killing the queen isn’t going to be any harder than any other long-distance spell we’ve done.”

Niall froze.

“As if you’ve had any experience in magic of this magnitude.” Mother had begun to pace; her voice grew clearer, then more distant, then clear again. “Even I’ve done it only once, and it wasn’t easy. I didn’t mean to remove both of your father’s brothers—only Valentine, who was threatening to tell your grandfather about my relationship with the duke. The last thing I wanted was for both of them to die, because that forced us to return to Ireland.”

“So that’s what it was! Poor Mother,” Doireann murmured. “Forced to come back and learn how to run Loughglass and be with her young daughter who’d been left to the care of nannies and
governesses while she herself was gadding about London society and entrancing the Duke of Cumberland—”

“You were quite well taken care of at your grandparents’, and your father and I could not afford the house and staff needed to bring you to England with us. Now stop this chatter and pay attention,” Mother snapped. “You need to be perfect to the smallest gesture and syllable. As the Mother you are the anchor of the magic. I will be managing both the Crone’s part and keeping our Maidenly Miss Leland in line. Fortunately this spell isn’t reliant on a time factor as much as it is on will, so it can take all night if necessary. All we’ll have to do is make sure that the circle we raise is large enough and that Miss Leland gives her power willingly. I don’t think that will be a problem, thanks to Niall. I must say, I had my misgivings about him. I was afraid we’d cut too close to the queen’s coronation, which would have a protective effect and make our job a lot more difficult, but he’s played his role very well.”

Niall realized that he was clutching the doorframe to keep from sliding to the ground in a shocked heap.

“Are you quite sure of that? Don’t you worry that he might have been too convincing?”

“Doireann, I am simply too tired to spar with you on this. Niall knows better than to have taken too many liberties with Miss Leland. I made it quite clear that she had to be a virgin. Stop being so contentious, though I suppose I might as well ask the clouds not to rain. Just think, this time next year we’ll all be in London! Niall will be the son of the king of England—unofficially, true, but no one with eyes in his head will be able to ignore the truth. Especially not his father.”