Spellmaker

Yet it was just as likely that they would stay in England. Perhaps not indefinitely, but for a while. Master aspector work was far more plentiful here than the islands, unless he wanted to take frequent commutes to the States, which he did not. In truth, he’d wanted the master ambulation spell only so he could continue to care for his plantation and its employees, but his future had changed in unexpected ways. He would have a wife, and eventually a family to rear. He had been mistaken about his polio. He had new options, and new responsibilities.

That, and Elsie’s entire life was in England. Not family, no, but friends, colleagues. She was close to Mr. Ogden and Miss Pratt; she’d even inquired about inviting them to the dinner tonight, but there was a certain decorum about these things, and in the end, she’d feared overstepping her bounds.

He’d glimpsed the dark side of her heart, the fear and sorrow left by her family’s abandonment and the callow treatment of this former beau of hers. Bacchus had no wish to extend the shadows. No, he wanted to lift them entirely. He wanted to see her smile and hear her laugh. Genuinely, as she had not done since that disastrous dinner when Abel Nash had tried to take Bacchus’s life, and Merton, the secret crook, had run free.

The sound of the duke’s carriage reached his ears as he came around the west side of the house. From his vantage point, he could see it coming down the road, and his stomach tightened. Straightening, he made his way toward the gates, though the carriage beat him to it, horses trotting up the lane and pulling in at the front of the house. Two servants came out to intercept, but they spied Bacchus and he waved them away so he could open the door himself.

Elsie gave him an uneasy smile, then let him take her gloved hand in his. She was wearing his favorite dress, the light cerulean one that almost matched her eyes. He thought that was a new hat with it and wondered if he should comment on it.

“Was your ride agreeable?” he asked instead, escorting her to the house, linking her arm through his.

“Wonderfully uneventful.” She brushed off her skirt. He could feel her pulse through her elbow, however, and it wasn’t precisely calm.

“You’ve dined with them before, Elsie.”

She let out a false laugh, then sucked in a large gulp of air and let it all out at once. “I know that.” She stuck her nose up in that proud way of hers, as though she could convince herself and all the world that she didn’t possess a single nerve or worry.

He guided her up the stairs, where one of the servants opened the door for them. Elsie pulled toward the dining hall—the smaller one, as the first was still under repairs—but Bacchus guided her off to the right, where the hallway curved. He stopped near a painted replica of the queen’s gardens, shadows dancing on the image as the candles flickered in their sconces.

Elsie looked at him, wide-eyed and curious.

He cleared his throat, his own nerves suddenly making themselves known. “I wasn’t sure when to give you this, but you might as well sport it, given the night’s event.” He fished into his pocket and pulled out the green ribbon in there, tied around a ring. As he began to unfasten it, Elsie grew very still.

“B-Bacchus, I don’t need a ring.” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He slid the ring off the ribbon—it was a golden band with a large, circular sapphire, surrounded by a braided loop that made it look almost like a flower—and held it up between them. “Every bride needs a ring, Elsie.”

She lifted her hand as though to touch it, but her fingers cowered at the last moment, curling inward like a dying insect’s legs. “It looks expensive.” Now she did whisper. Heaven forbid a passing servant discover Bacchus wasn’t cheap.

“I would give you my mother’s ring,” he said, reaching for her left hand, “but she never had one.”

Elsie didn’t resist as he took her hand. He slid the small ring onto his pinky finger, down to the first knuckle. Then he tugged on her glove, one fingertip at a time, loosening the lace until it came free. It was only a glove, he knew, but something about it felt deeply intimate. Her hands were soft against his, her nails neatly trimmed, her fingers quivering so slightly he almost didn’t detect it. But he did.

He slid the ring onto her fourth finger. It was a little large.

A soft chuckle came up her throat. “I’ll eat seconds at every meal until it fits.”

He smiled. Gently pinched the ring and let a novice spell flow through him with master control, a spell that, little by little, shrunk the band of the ring until it fit snuggly around her finger. Turned her hand over so that the sapphire sparkled in the candlelight. “It suits you.”

She flushed in an oddly provocative way, and Bacchus forced himself to step back and turn his thoughts elsewhere. “I believe we’re expected.”

Elsie nodded, her eyes still on the ring. She looked so guilty Bacchus almost felt as though he’d done something wrong.