“Alison,” she said shakily, “remember how I wanted your thoughts on the geraniums? They’re just on the east side of the house. Could I meet you there?”
“You most certainly shall.” Mrs. Abrams stood sharply, sticking her nose up in the air. She gave a final hard look to Elsie and Bacchus before turning her back on them and leaving out the door. Given her dignified, self-righteous manner, she likely thought she was being excused so the duchess could reprimand her guests.
A few seconds after she left, the duchess chuckled. “You do have a sharpness about you, Bacchus.”
Elsie released the breath she’d been holding. “Thank you,” she whispered. When Bacchus’s eyes slid to hers, her chest warmed, and she looked away.
“I didn’t think she’d be so bold,” the duchess went on. “You both have my sincerest apologies.”
“No matter,” Bacchus said. His hand remained entwined with Elsie’s. He must have forgotten he put it there. Would it be awkward to pull away? Elsie didn’t want to, but if Bacchus were doing it for mere show, well . . . half of their audience had departed.
Letting herself enjoy the touch of his palm a little longer, Elsie chose to get to the point. “I was curious, Duchess Scott, about one of our acquaintances. I, er, read about her retirement and was sad to see her go.”
“Oh?” The duchess smoothed her skirts. “Oh! You must mean Master Merton.”
Elsie nodded. “She was very kind to me when we met. I had been hoping to learn something more about her background.”
The duchess shook her head. “Honestly, I don’t know much. My husband was familiar with her these last couple of years, but we only really got to know her after Ida’s promising test with the drops.”
Elsie deflated. One dead end.
“I was quite surprised by her leaving. She had taken such an interest in Ida’s education . . . granted I didn’t think Ida wanted to go the spellmaking route, but she was a little disappointed to lose the attention.” She smiled. “I would give you her address so you could write, but I heard she’s left London for the country.”
Bacchus asked, “Do you know where in the country?”
But the duchess shook her head. “I’m not sure at all.” She looked over the teacups. “Here, let me get this taken care of, and we can talk of the wedding in earnest.” She stood and moved to the bellpull on the nearby wall.
Bacchus leaned in close. “I’ll contact Duchess Morris today and set up an appointment.”
Elsie nodded, resisting the urge to turn. He was close enough that their noses might brush, but she wanted to make this as comfortable for him as possible. At that thought, she carefully removed her hand from his grasp and settled it in her lap. “Thank you.”
They spoke nothing more on the matter.
Later that night, Bacchus used the magicked pencils to inform Elsie he would be picking her up in the morning to call on Duchess Morris. She woke early and waited by the window for a full forty-five minutes so she didn’t miss the stately black victoria carriage when it drove into town and pulled up beside the stonemasonry shop. Stringing her reticule over her wrist, she made sure to secure her hat and smooth her skirt before stepping out the front door. Bacchus was only a few paces away, coming up to retrieve her. Gentlemanly of him.
He offered her a soft smile—“Miss Camden”—and his arm.
She was struck by the formality, but took his arm, allowing him to guide her to the carriage. It was only as she stepped into it that she noticed Miss Alexandra Wright, one of the nosy daughters of the local banker, trotting down the lane from the direction of the saddler. Her eyes were round and curious, her attention directed at Bacchus.
Elsie sighed and stepped up into the two-seater vehicle, wishing it were a closed carriage so she could hide from the town’s greatest gossip, but it was not meant to be. Bacchus stepped up after her and took up the reins of two fine-looking hackneys. Elsie ignored the younger Miss Wright as they pulled past her, but she felt the other woman’s stare. All of Brookley would be talking by this evening.
In truth, she wouldn’t have minded the gossip, were everything playing out the way a normal courtship should. She was hardly ashamed of being seen with an enormous, handsome, master spellmaker. It mattered not a whit to her that his skin was deeply suntanned and his hair was long. Indeed, she liked the way the essence of him colored outside the lines, so to speak. Loved to see it rankle prim busybodies like Alexandra Wright.
It was just that, when Bacchus found a way to untangle himself from her mess and sailed home, leaving her behind in England, the gossips would know all about it. Their snickers, whispers, and rumors would only be an infection to Elsie’s broken heart, and she dreaded that.
As they pulled out of town, angling westward, Elsie buried the unpleasant thoughts and focused on the present. “I didn’t know you could drive.”
Bacchus’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “Did you presume I was too backward to acquire such a skill, or too refined to take up the reins?” He’d slipped into his Bajan accent.
Elsie smiled, relaxing into the bench a bit. “Is it possible to think you both?”
He slowed the victoria and moved it to the side of the road as a wagon passed, then encouraged the horses back into a trot. “You’re welcome to take the reins yourself.”
“Am I really?”
He glanced at her. “If you want to.”
She smiled and looked ahead. “Perhaps on the way back. I’ll consider this a driving lesson. Ogden doesn’t own any vehicles.”
“The duke has plenty.”
Her mind flashed to the carriage house she’d broken into in London. She’d disenchanted one of the carriages at the direction of the Cowls, or rather Merton. The note had indicated she would be saving the lives of poverty-stricken poachers; instead the disenchanted coach had allowed for the kidnapping of Master Alma Digby. Likely her opus was sitting in a trunk in Merton’s hideaway, wherever it was.
Mirth fled her.
After a moment, Bacchus noticed. “Elsie? Are you concerned? I wrote ahead to Duchess Morris. It would be more proper to wait for her response, but she’ll welcome anything that makes her feel important.”
“Oh, yes, I suppose she would.” She tugged on her gloves, pulling them tight over her fingers. “I was thinking on how to best approach this. Keep it official sounding at the start, of course.”
“Ask her about spiritual aspection before spellbreaking,” Bacchus suggested. “Make her think she’s the center of the room. She’ll be more pliable that way.”
Elsie nodded. “She does seem to be a center-of-the-universe sort of person.”
Bacchus smiled. It felt so natural, so wonderful, to banter with him. So long as they stayed away from the subject of their impending wedding. If she could just cut that out of their story, she could talk to Bacchus forever.
“I shall start with, ‘Why did you choose spiritual aspection when you obviously favor spells of a physical nature?’” she teased.
He chuckled. “I would love to see her reaction to that.”
“But alas, I would love to stay in her sitting room for longer than two minutes.” Elsie sighed, her good humor wilting. “In truth, I was pondering over Master Merton.”