The Twelfth Enchantment: A Novel (33 page)

Byron smiled at this revelation. “I had not thought I could like you better, but I now do. Deceiving Morrison for your own ends indeed. How can I serve you?”

Lucy took a deep breath. “I must get to Lady Harriett’s estate, and I do not know how to go about it. I have no one to ask. Except—except
you. Can I impose on you to inquire how I would find a coach to take the shortest, fastest route to Kent?”

The dance was now over, and Byron led her away from the dance floor toward the periphery, perhaps choosing the spot in the room farthest from Mr. Gilley and his daughter, who were, even now, straining their necks in search of Lucy. Lucy and Byron stood near the wall thick with paintings, and he smiled down upon her.

“I shall do better,” he said. “I shall take you to Kent myself.”

Lucy felt, all at once, terror and excitement. To go off alone with Byron! Why, it was scandalous, but perhaps no less scandalous than taking a coach by herself to Kent.

“You are truly kind,” said Lucy. “I know not if I should accept your generous offer.”

“Oh, your virginity is safe with me, Lucy. I will not again declare my feelings, and you need not worry that I will attempt to persuade you into circumstances that are not to your liking. You have seen for yourself that I need not resort to cruel measures to find solace in this world.”

Lucy blushed so deeply she feared she might swoon. No man had ever spoken thus to her, and yet there was something reassuring in it. With Byron there was no dance of pretense and posture and performance. He said what he meant and expressed how he felt. Perhaps that made him the safest companion she could find.

“You can tell no one what you do. I may be fool enough to trust you, but no one would believe such a voyage to be an innocent thing. I cannot sacrifice my reputation.”

“Of course, I will tell no one. You will have to manage to explain your absence to your hosts. That is your concern. I can only take you where you wish to go, and do it with all the discretion you desire.”

“Then I shall gratefully accept your generous offer,” said Lucy, already thinking about how she would conceal this visit from Norah and her family, and thinking that the time would come, very soon, when she would be alone with Byron, with no one to supervise or interfere or object. This notion thrilled her as much as it terrified her.

It was at that moment that Norah arrived, with her parents in tow. They looked slightly winded, and Mrs. Gilley straightened her gown, as though the effort of finding Lucy had tired her. Nevertheless, now that they had found her, they chose to act as though all was well.

“Ah, Miss Derrick,” said Mr. Gilley. “Here you are at last. I did not know you would walk off so readily with a stranger.” The moment he stopped speaking, his face drew into a tight line, and he gazed upon Byron through narrowed eyes.

Byron bowed at Mr. Gilley. “Hardly strangers, sir,” said Byron. “Miss Derrick is my near neighbor in Nottingham, much as you are, and as you and I are acquainted, it is odd that you should think I do not know this lady’s family.”

“I see,” said Mr. Gilley. “I was unaware there was a connection. In any event, Miss Derrick, you alarmed us by disappearing as you did without a word.”

Lucy curtsied. “It is merely that the room was so crowded, and we were separated by the crush of people.” Feeling herself blush once more, Lucy turned away. She had vanished for a few minutes in a crowded gathering, and already they implied she had behaved inappropriately. What would they suggest when she vanished, for days perhaps, with Byron? The trick, of course, would be arranging things so that no one would find out.

B
YRON COULD NOT DEPART FOR TWO DAYS. IT WAS LONGER THAN
Lucy wished to wait, but less time than she would have had to wait without his help, and so she did not complain. It seemed to her that her time might be put to good use. Indeed, the more she thought about it, the more she realized she needed these two days to prepare, and so she asked Byron if there was a shop in London that specialized in books upon subjects occult. She had books aplenty, but she hoped to purchase ingredients she could use for her trip to Lady Harriett’s estate. She’d spent long hours sewing secret pouches into her frocks, poring through her books, memorizing spells and talismans, imagining every situation and how she might respond.

There was no guarantee she would find useful materials. Any such shop might be run by charlatans or cynics who sold books and trinkets in which they had no belief, seeing their customers as simpletons. If that were the case, Lucy would have lost nothing.

This left Lucy with the question of how to slip away unnoticed, but a few hours of study revealed this to be an easily mastered problem. When Norah and her mother wished to attend tea at the home of a lady of fashion—yet another wealthy woman with Tory leanings who would pretend not to be condescending while passing a stilted hour with strangers for whom she had nothing but contempt—Lucy affected a headache and said she would stay at home. She did not know how long her expedition would take, and she did not know if she could be home before Norah returned, so Lucy concealed her absence with a talisman. She directed Mrs. Emmett to remain behind in the event something went wrong, that she might best concoct a story to explain where Lucy had gone. Next, she directed one of the footmen to find her a hackney coach, which she took to the Strand, and found the shop Byron had mentioned, off the main thoroughfare on Bridge Street. It was a respectable old building, well maintained and orderly, and when she went in she was surprised to see that it looked like any other London bookstore, of which she had visited quite a few since arriving.

A kindly old gentleman in a spotless white apron smiled at her when she walked through the door. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so,” said Lucy. “What have you for breaking open houses?”

When she had finished her business, the shopkeeper cheerfully wrapped her purchases, and wished her a good day. When Lucy opened the door onto the street, she came face-to-face, much to her surprise, with Spencer Perceval, who had his hand out and was preparing to knock. His handsome face formed an
O
in surprise, and his slight form took a step backwards.

“Miss Derrick,” he said.

“Mr. Perceval,” she responded. Then, on a whim, she curtsied, because she did not know how one ought to behave in the presence of the prime minister.

He could not help but smile. “I see my warnings have had little effect.”

“I was but looking at some books,” said Lucy, who focused all of her will into not looking like a child caught stealing sweets. “Is that now a crime?”

“Your crimes are none of my concern,” he told her. “However, I wish to make certain you do not interfere with our affairs. Your visit here has nothing to do with the events we spoke of the other night, does it?”

“Of course not,” said Lucy. It never occurred to her not to lie, and it was this facility that made her so good at deception, especially if the man she deceived thought her pretty.

He studied her carefully, ostensibly for signs of dissembling, but Lucy had the feeling he used this examination to look at her because he liked to look at her. Lucy did not think of herself as vain about her appearance, but she knew when a man admired her, and she saw no reason not to use this advantage to keep Mr. Perceval off balance.

“The order cannot tolerate your interference,” he told her. “The next time I see you, I hope it is someplace less suspect than this.”

“I hope so too,” said Lucy. As she walked away, she had the distinct impression she had gotten away with something.

When Lucy returned to Mr. Gilley’s town house, Lucy handed her coat and hat to a servant, went to her room to set down her things, and then proceeded to the parlor, where Mrs. Gilley and Norah were playing cards. Lucy sat near them, with her back to the fire, and opened a novel that happened to be sitting there. Both ladies said hello, and neither asked where she had been or how she had passed her day. The spell had worked flawlessly.

It did not work forever, however. It would last no more than two sunsets, and so that meant when she climbed into Byron’s carriage the next day, she would have to reach Lady Harriet’s estate in Kent—a distance of some fifty miles—discover what she could there without being detected, and return to London before two days had passed. It seemed to her that this should be possible—provided nothing went terribly wrong, but there were any number of things that could go wrong, particularly
when one traveled such a long stretch of road in such a hurry, and when one was involved in such risky undertakings as breaking open the house of a wealthy and influential lady, and doing so with a notorious rake.

Lucy collected all she might need for charms she might be forced to make or spells she might have to cast. Most of these she put in a small travel bag, but some she secured in a secret pouch she had sewn in the gown she would wear. She meant to keep emergency provisions in that, and perhaps use it to secure from the world what she did not want the world to see.

Mrs. Emmett declared that she would stay behind to cover Lucy’s absence. The good woman wept at the prospect of being apart from Lucy for two days, but she also insisted that she could not go, though she would not say why. Lucy wanted her there as a buffer against Byron, but Mrs. Emmett would not be persuaded.

Byron collected her in the predawn hours, somehow looking perfectly rested and impeccably dressed, despite the early hour. Lucy had been full of apprehension, afraid that he would attempt something inappropriate the moment she entered the coach, but though he smiled at her and snuck glances at her in the dim light, his behavior was entirely unobjectionable. After the first hour, Lucy began to relax and feel as at ease as she would if they were in the presence of a chaperone.

After they rode in silence for some time, Lucy explained her time limitations, and Byron merely smiled and told her that he would certainly have her back by the hour she desired. And perhaps he meant it, but it also occurred to Lucy that he would not be particularly troubled if he did not. Perhaps he would determine it to be in his best interest that she did not return in time. Once revealed as the sort of woman who would run off with a rogue for two days, she would have nothing to lose by accepting his scandalous proposals. Lucy would be on her guard.

Their conversation at first centered around trivial things, as though they were but two unremarkable people upon an exceedingly unremarkable journey. They talked of the gathering at Almack’s, of some of the people Lucy had met since arriving in town, the sights she had seen,
and the plays she hoped yet to see. Byron talked of his forthcoming volume,
Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage
, which would be published soon, and how many voices had agreed that it was apt to bring him significant attention. He was buoyant and witty, and pleased with Lucy’s company. He was, in short, very much the man whom Lucy found so charming when she first met him in Nottinghamshire and the man she wished he had remained.

“I cannot thank you enough for helping me in this regard,” said Lucy.