Spellmaker

Mrs. Abrams didn’t give her a chance. “It really is a quaint match, isn’t it? A spellmaker and a spellbreaker, ha! And you met before Master Kelsey’s mastership?”

Bacchus answered, “We did.”

“Good, good. That will smooth over any questioning from the peerage.” She nodded and sipped her tea.

Elsie stifled a frown. Had the woman just pointed out their class difference, right in front of her?

“As for the wedding party,” the woman went on, completely ignorant of the apologetic expression on the duchess’s face, “how many are we to expect? There are some large chapels in London, but travel is expensive and will take away from the gifts. I’m sure you will need gifts.” She looked pointedly at Elsie, which made Elsie’s neck heat. “Are your parents close by, Miss Camden? I assume they are also employed.”

The warmth crept over Elsie’s jaw. “Th-They are not, Mrs. Abrams.” She considered saying they were dead, which could be true for all she knew, just to kill the conversation.

“Not? Oh.” She nodded. “Then why are you working? Debts, perhaps.”

Bacchus’s low voice was stern when he said, “Elsie is free of any such things, Mrs. Abrams. Her parents are no longer a part of her life.”

“No longer a part . . . ?” Mrs. Abrams looked at the duchess in bewilderment.

“Oh, the details are not so important, are they?” the duchess said, awkwardly trying to smooth things over.

“How so?” Mrs. Abrams protested. “Were you disowned, Miss Camden?”

The flush inched up Elsie’s cheeks. “I was not particularly owned to begin with. If you must know, I became separated from them at a young age. Which is why I am employed. I care for myself just fine.”

“Well.” She leaned into the settee’s backrest. “That is quite a shock. Your discovery of magic is the only thing that will spare you from the worst of gossip.”

Now the duchess flushed. “There will hardly be gossip—”

“There will always be gossip, Abigail—”

“Mrs. Abrams.” Bacchus’s tone was forceful now; he surprised Elsie by reaching over and taking her hand. The warmth of his fingers sent shocks up her arm and had her blushing for an entirely new reason. “I am grateful for your willingness to assist, but I believe we will have a very small wedding party that will not require much in the way of management. My own parents have passed, and I have no siblings to speak of, so the transaction will be a simple matter. I’m sure your skills would be put to good use elsewhere.”

Oh, Elsie could kiss him.

Mrs. Abrams clucked her tongue. “A marriage is a transaction, Master Kelsey. A wedding is not. My second youngest—of six, mind you—had a small wedding, yet it was still the talk of the town. There is the choir to consider, and flowers and guests’ attire must be in line with—”

“I hardly think what the guests wear is important,” Elsie sputtered.

Mrs. Abrams shot her a sharp look for being interrupted. “It matters a great deal. I would not want to wear the same color as the bride, for instance.”

Bacchus set his saucer down. “Then it is fortunate that you will not be invited.”

The room seemed to freeze. Elsie held her breath as both a sob and a laugh warred in her throat. She realized she was squeezing Bacchus’s hand, but could not seem to convince her fingers to loosen. Bacchus watched Mrs. Abrams with a lowered brow, his green eyes sharp. Mrs. Abrams’s eyes seemed to bulge further. The duchess’s mouth was a limp O, but she was the first to regain her composure.

“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.”