Father had never punished Beatrice with an application of pain to the flesh. Instead, when she had transgressed, he would forget her right before her eyes. She would cease to exist, cast out of the warmth of his love and regard while pain spread over his features, pain she’d caused by being such a grave disappointment. If he knew she had practiced magic stronger than a rhyming charm, if he knew she was going to teach another girl the knowledge inside the grimoires . . . but worst of all, if a man learned the secret of them . . .
Harriet must not tell Beatrice’s secret. If she tattled, Father would never look at Beatrice again. She had to be the one to ease Father into the idea of letting her assist him with the business. She nearly had the means in her grasp. And she already had the name she needed: Wandinatilus, greater spirit of Fortune. She would have the means to alter chance to find the gaps that brought surprising profits to the one who invested without trying to chase trends. She would be blessed with good timing, solid hunches, and the means to escape unwise investments. With Wandinatilus bound to her, she could raise the Clayborns to prosperity while Harriet made the match that would make her a happy bride.
But not yet. Not until she had bound the spirit and proven to Father that she was worth more as a thornback than as a wife.
“Beatrice?”
Beatrice held up her hand, asking for a moment to finish chewing. “She invited me to play hazards with her. I didn’t know there was a hazards course between here and Meryton.”
Father chewed thoughtfully. “Score well early in the game. Watch how she reacts. If she’s not a good sport, let her win.”
Beatrice reached for her own wine cup, but it didn’t still her tongue. “In other words, we must not threaten the powerful any more than women can disrupt a man’s need to be the better.”
“Beatrice,” Father said, sharply. “There is an order to the world. People may rise above their place, given hard work and the blessings of the Skyborn, but you ascend a great distance to join Ysbeta Lavan at her side. Cross her, and you will come tumbling down. Do you understand?”
“You can’t ruin this,” Harriet said. “Ysbeta Lavan’s friendship is a handful of pearls. Don’t lose this opportunity.”
Harriet was right. Beatrice didn’t care. “I would like to have a true friendship, rather than a tiresome dance of manners and obsequiousness.”
Father and Harriet turned identical stern expressions on her. Mother set down her empty wine cup and touched Beatrice’s arm.
“And you have an opportunity to gain one. They’re just asking you to be careful. To think about how your words and actions can ripple out past what you intend. Let your association bloom slowly—you grow a friendship the way you would a prized rosebush.”
“You’re right, Mother.”
“And that is the proper way of a clever wife,” Father said. “You will do well, Beatrice. I know you understand your duty, and you will be as clever as your mother.”
And she needed all the cleverness she could use to smooth her way. Beatrice leaned back in her chair, and a serving-man took her top plate away. “Perhaps in the morning Harriet and I could take to the track. It’s been days since we’ve taken out Cloudburst and Marian, and the park will be crushed during the Cherry Blossom ride.”
Harriet sat up a little straighter. “The whole track?”
“All twelve miles,” Beatrice said. “We’ll ride it and then I will get ready to call on Ysbeta Lavan.”
“That’s excellent. We should encounter many gentlemen if we ride the whole track.”
Harriet couldn’t just skip out to the stables and saddle her horse any time she wanted, the way she could at Riverstone—their riding horses were boarded a mile away in the stables Father had leased along with the townhouse. She was too young to go riding without company in town, and so depended on Mother or Beatrice to take her out.
“I’ll have the footman take a note to have them ready at nine o’clock,” Beatrice said. “And then we’ll ride the whole track.”
“Yes,” Harriet said. “And you’ll wear your blue habit?”
That wasn’t really a request. “I will wear my blue habit, and so will you, to match. May we, Father?”
Father chewed on a mouthful of bass and shooed them with his hand. “You may. It will be a fine morning for riding. And there will inevitably be gentlemen.”
She returned Father’s pink-cheeked smile and managed to finish her dinner.
Harriet didn’t utter a word of Beatrice’s dealings with Ysbeta Lavan for the rest of the meal, and even went to bed early to be fresh for the day. In the morning she made a huge fuss over Cloudburst, her dapple, and was in the saddle in a twinkling, arranging her skirts once she had planted her left foot in the stirrup. “Hurry, Beatrice.”
Beatrice settled into Marian’s saddle, fitting her right leg in the curve of the top pommel, and let Harriet lead the way to Lord Harsgrove Park. Harriet was a better rider than she, more comfortable, more daring, but she kept an easy pace as they rode through the morning streets of Bendleton to a wide swath of green, ducking under the blooming branches stretched across the gate to the park.
The cherry blossom–scented track was empty, and Harriet was silent for three breaths before she finally turned to Beatrice. “I really think you and Ysbeta Lavan shouldn’t dabble in magic.”
“I know you think we shouldn’t, but I have no power to stop Ysbeta from doing as she wishes,” Beatrice said. “And I know you could have told Father anyway, but you didn’t. Why?”
Harriet sighed as pale pink petals nodded gently overhead. “You honestly don’t know why I didn’t tell Father?”
“Because you’re my sister and you love me?”
“Because it would have destroyed everything,” Harriet said. “If Father knew what you were doing, this bargaining season would be over and we’d be ruined.”
“If the story got out,” Beatrice said. “I understand.”
“You don’t understand,” Harriet said. “You don’t understand at all. Do you have any idea how much all of this costs?”
“I do,” Beatrice said, lowering her voice so only the blossoms would hear. “I know this habit cost at least twenty crowns, and the riding boots six—”
“You have four riding habits,” Harriet said. “You have twenty day dresses and as many dinner and ball gowns. You have two dozen hats, sixteen pairs of gloves, the best cosmetics from all over the world, seven parasols, thirty-two pairs of shoes, and they all cost money.”
Beatrice shifted in her saddle. “Well, naturally, but—”
“We have a fashionable address in Bendleton. An ideal address,” Harriet said. “It has a view of the sea on one side and the south end of the park on the other. It’s on the right street. We have footmen, maids, and a housekeeper. We have memberships to the assembly hall, park privileges, a subscription to the theater—you really haven’t thought about it? Not even once?”
“I have,” Beatrice said. “I’ve noticed that Father took himself hunting through winter and cut his annual trip to Gravesford short by two weeks. But he’s simply making little economies, isn’t he? Father wouldn’t be going to all this expense if he couldn’t pay for it. I know the orchid expedition hurt our finances, but it couldn’t be as badly as I thought, since we’re here—”