Spellmaker

“I know you’re not formally a bridesmaid, but you should be,” she confessed, and pulled a small broach, in the shape of a dove, free from her gown. “I wanted you to have this anyway.”

Emmeline gasped. “Oh, this is the one from the dressmaker’s shop! Oh, Elsie, it must’ve been expensive.”

“I’m a spellbreaker, don’t know you?” Elsie prodded her shoulder. “I am quite employable. I want you to have it so you’ll think of me when I’m not around.”

Emmeline drew her into a tight hug. “I’ll remember you besides, you ninny! Thank you.” She pulled back, then tipped her head to something over Elsie’s shoulder. Elsie turned to see the Duchess of Kent approaching shyly. Emmeline squeezed Elsie’s hand before leaving them. Bacchus noticed as well, for he stepped over and placed a hand on Elsie’s shoulder.

“I’m so, so happy for the both of you.” She held something in her hand—an ornate box tied up with ribbon, dried flowers delicately glued under a glass lid. “Isaac and the girls wanted so badly to be here, but given the circumstances . . .” She shrugged.

Smiling, Elsie reached out and clasped the duchess’s arm. “I’m honored that you came, Abigail.”

The woman brightened at the sound of her Christian name. “And I’m honored to be here.” Her gaze flitted to Bacchus. “And this is a wedding gift, from us to you.” She handed over the box. Bacchus took it, his brow furrowing.

“This isn’t . . . ,” he began, eyeing the duchess.

Elsie blinked. “Isn’t what?”

The duchess smiled softly. “In truth, Bacchus, the duke intended to bequeath it to you. You’ve been like a son to him. And it is an adequate gift, for a magical pair.”

Curious, Elsie took the box from Bacchus’s hands and pulled the ribbon free, peering beneath its lid. Inside was a book with a leather cover dark as onyx, with inlaid, gemlike flowers not dissimilar from those in the box’s lid. The corners were cut into soft fringes, and the thick pages were lined with a glimmering orange that made Elsie think of a sunset.

Her chin dropped. “Th-This is an opus, isn’t it?”

Reaching forward, the duchess took Elsie’s hand and placed it firmly on top of the box. “Take care of it. It’s the least we can do.” She eyed Bacchus. “Receive it graciously. It is not given out of guilt, but love.”

Bacchus nodded, his eyes moist. “Thank you.”

Though they were not having a dinner, Bacchus had made sure some traditions were kept. Outside the church awaited a carriage—a closed carriage, thank goodness—pulled by two gray horses, Rainer at the reins. White roses adorned the carriage—surely half of them would fall off during the ride into London, but the impracticality of it somehow made the gesture sweeter. As Bacchus took her hand and led her to the vehicle, the wedding guests threw nuts in the air. Elsie felt herself blush—it was tradition, yes, but she didn’t miss that the nuts symbolized fertility.

She caught a glimpse of curious townsfolk around them as she slid inside the cab, spying briefly the amazed looks on the Wright sisters’ faces. She wondered what sort of gossip they’d be spreading today, then realized she didn’t care.

Bacchus came in after her, taking a seat beside her instead of across from her. When he slid his hand in her direction, she wove her fingers between his.

“We did it, Mrs. Kelsey.” He had a roguish expression on his face.

The name really did have a rather pleasant ring to it, especially in his Bajan accent. “You’ve decided not to be English today?”

He ran his thumb along hers. “I’ve decided to be myself.”

And if that didn’t spread a warm glow through her . . .

The carriage pulled northward, heading into London. Although they were moving into their new home, they’d agreed to spend the majority of their time at the stonemasonry shop until they stopped Merton. Bacchus had moved in to protect Elsie, yes, but also to protect Ogden, who was just as likely to be attacked or waylaid by the spiritual aspector. But it was also their wedding day.

Wedding day. How surreal.

They arrived at the townhome without fanfare; it was about five miles west of Parliament Square and had a small garden walled off from the street. The irony wasn’t missed on Elsie. She had once thought such nasty things about the wealthy and their walls, and now she was going to live behind one. She still wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

They stepped through the veranda, and Bacchus unlocked the door. Rainer pulled away with the carriage. It seemed, for now, they were to be alone.

Elsie’s nerves returned in full force. She clutched the temporal opus to her chest.

The door opened onto a short hallway, a set of stairs to its left. Bacchus gestured to the room on the right. “The parlor,” he said, then, taking her arm through his, led her down the hallway. “The dining room, and the kitchen is through here.”

The rooms all held appropriate furniture—the parlor could do with another chair—but the walls were scant and in need of decoration, as was the mantel. Bacchus led her back through the hallway.