The Witches of Cambridge
Read The Witches of Cambridge Online
Authors: Menna Van Praag
Praise for Menna van Praag
“Bighearted, beautiful, and brushed with magic, this novel celebrates life’s moments of joy, possibility, and transformation. Menna van Praag’s writing is bright with sparkles and lovely grace notes.”
—S
USAN
W
IGGS
,
New York Times
bestselling author of
The Beekeeper’s Ball
“Van Praag has a knack for balancing a large cast of engaging characters, and her references to beloved authors and historic scientists are enjoyable touchstones between doses of mystery and magic.”
—
Booklist
Praise for
The
Dress Shop of Dreams
“Van Praag has a deliciously innate capability to weave the totality of characters of
The Dress Shop of Dreams
into a compelling tale. Each character, from Cambridge to Oxford, augments and refines these dynamics. Ultimately, van Praag cracks the code that deciphers magical fate when it comes to couture and the complexities of love.”
—
New York Journal of Books
“[A] brightly colored fabulist confection…sure to delight those looking for a little fairy dust in their romance.”
—
Kirkus Reviews
“Reminiscent of
Love Actually
and
P.S. I Love You
, this cute little book is recommended to readers who want to be charmed by the possibilities of love.”
—
LibraryReads
“Dreams, dresses, magic, and mystery swirl in this enchanting novel.
The Dress Shop of Dreams
is the book to read before turning off your bedside light.”
—N
ANCY
T
HAYER
,
New York Times
bestselling author of
An Island Christmas
“
The Dress Shop of Dreams
is a dream come true for lovers of romantic tales with a twist of fantasy. Utterly enchanting! Menna van Praag’s imaginative, endearing characters will stay with you long after you close the book.”
—M
ARY
A
LICE
M
ONROE
,
New York Times
bestselling author of
The Summer Wind
The Witches of Cambridge
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 by Menna van Praag
Reading group guide copyright © 2016 by Penguin Random House LLC
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.
BALLANTINE and the HOUSE colophon are registered trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.
RANDOM HOUSE READER’S CIRCLE & Design is a registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Praag, Menna van, author.
Title: The witches of Cambridge : a novel / Menna van Praag.
Description: New York : Ballantine Books, [2016]
Identifiers: LCCN 2015038060 | ISBN 9780804179003 (softcover : acid-free paper) | ISBN 9780804179010 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Witches—England—Cambridge—Fiction. | Paranormal romance stories. | BISAC: FICTION / Contemporary Women. | FICTION / Sagas. | FICTION / Romance / Contemporary. | GSAFD: Love stories.
Classification: LCC PR6116.R34 W58 2016 | DDC 823/.92—dc23 LC record available at
http://lccn.loc.gov/2015038060
eBook ISBN 9780804179010
Book design by Elizabeth A. D. Eno, adapted for eBook
Cover design: Belina Huey
Cover illustration: Tom Hallman, based on a photograph © Fotolia
v4.1
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Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
A Few of Cosima’s Favorite Baking Spells
A
MANDINE CLOSES HER
eyes as the clock ticks past midnight. She tries to ignore the tug of the full moon and the flutter in her chest as its gravity squeezes her heart. Instead Amandine focuses on her husband’s soft snores and wonders, as she has every night for the last few months, why she feels so numb.
When they met thirteen years ago, she thought him the most beautiful man she’d ever seen and he’s still a handsome man, strong and lean and dark. Amandine Bisset was so passionate for Eliot Walker that tiny silver sparks flew from her fingertips when she touched him. When they made love her whole body filled with white light so bright Amandine believed she might explode. Now she wonders, when was the last time sex was like that. Before the babies were born?
Now they have two rambunctious, full-blooded, glorious boys and hardly enough energy left at the end of the day for a goodnight kiss, let alone anything else. And any intimacy had quickly evaporated, like wet kisses scattered across warm skin. Thirteen years ago, when they were both undergraduates at Cambridge, Amandine’s skin had shimmered at the sight of him. The first time Eliot Walker entered her world she was standing in the foyer of the Fitzwilliam Museum gazing at
The Kiss
by Gustav Klimt and wondering if, among all the glistening gold, she’d ever be blessed enough to feel the passionate desire depicted in that painting.
A moment later, the thought still lingering in her head, Amandine had heard laughter as bright and brilliant as moonshine. She turned to see Eliot standing alone in front of a van Gogh, his laughter flooding the painting and filling the room. Seized by a sudden urge she couldn’t explain, Amandine found herself walking toward him. When she reached him she didn’t extend her hand and introduce herself.
“Why are you laughing?”
Eliot turned his smile on her. “What?”
She asked again and he shrugged.
“I don’t know. There’s a quirky joy about it, the sky rolling like waves, the moon and stars like little suns. I think the artist wanted us to smile.”
“I don’t think so,” Amandine said, feeling the need to contradict him. “Van Gogh was a depressive. This painting was the view from his sanatorium window. I doubt he was smiling at the time.”
Eliot’s own smile deepened, tinged with cheeky triumph. “But he didn’t paint it there, did he? It was done from memory, years later. He might have been laughing then.”
Amandine frowned, not because he was wrong—indeed she knew for a fact that he wasn’t—but because he was so sure of himself, slightly arrogant and argumentative. Just like herself.
“Before or after he cut off his ear?”
Eliot laughed again. “You don’t like to be wrong, do you?”
Amandine’s frown deepened. “Does anyone?”
“Not me,” he agreed. “But that doesn’t matter, because I never am.”
Now Amandine laughed, despite herself. “Everyone’s wrong sometimes.”
“Something you know more than most, I imagine.” Eliot’s eyes glittered.
Amandine was just about to fight back when she realized he was flirting. So she reined herself in, suppressing a smile and giving a nonchalant shrug.
“I’m as wrong about life as anyone, but I’m rarely wrong about art,” she said. “And you’re not even studying art, are you? I haven’t seen you around Scroope.”
“Law. Finalist. Trinity.” He gave a little bow with a flourish of his hand. “Eliot Ellis Walker-Jones, at your service.”
“Ah, so you’re one of them.” Amandine raised a teasing eyebrow, her glance resting for a moment on his thick dark hair. “I should have known.”
“One of whom?”
“A lawyer. A double-barrelled name. A snob.”
“The first charge I already confessed to. The second, I can’t deny,” Eliot said. “But how can you claim the third?”
“Your accent, your name, your knowledge of art even though it’s not your subject.” Amandine smiled, feeling a sparkle on her skin as it began to tingle. “You probably play the piano disgustingly well and row for Trinity. And I bet a hundred quid you went to Eton—”
“Winchester.”
“Same difference.”
“Well, not unless twenty thousand pounds a year means nothing to you.”
Amandine rolled her eyes, finding it harder and harder not to look into his: vivid green with flecks of yellow, bright against his pale skin and dark hair.
“So, you’re an art historian then?” Eliot asked, shifting the tone.
Amandine gave a little curtsy, fixing her eyes on the floor, hiding her desire to know this man more deeply, though she knew him hardly at all.
