Shock reflected on her mother’s face. “You are leaving the manor?”
“Let me clean the cottage first, but perhaps.” She gave her parent an encouraging smile. “I’m grown, Mama. I need to do this, to find out who I am.”
“You should be a proper young lady and go to London with one of your sisters in the hopes of finding a match.”
Emmaline blew out a breath of frustration. “There is more to life than marriage.” The fact shemightneed to attend society events and talk to strangers to reach that state terrified her to the point of fainting. “I am not ready for that.”
“But—”
If she didn’t show a backbone now, she would never have the chance again. “I’m sorry, Mama, but I must do this. I’ll be home for dinner.” Then she fled the drawing room, bound for her bedchamber to pack a bag before she returned to the cottage.
*
October 31, 1819
All Hallow’s Eve
Emmaline smiled asshe glanced about the tidy common room of the cottage. She’d spent the past twenty days intensely sweeping,mopping, and wiping down the interior of the cottage she’d found in the woods. Also, she’d brought bits and bobs from the manor to decorate the interior, all of which she’d rooted around in the attic to retrieve.
“Oh, this is such a cozy place.” When had she taken up talking to herself? There was no certain point in her life, but it had probably started after the fire that had taken her family. She didn’t enjoy silences yet didn’t mind being alone.
A cheerful fire danced behind an ornate metal grate that featured twists and curves. She couldn’t gaze upon the flames without fear shivering up her spine, but she hoped to eventually conquer that too. With her mother’s grudging permission, she’d brought her maid and one footman with her to the cottage. They both had their own small rooms—the maid on the upper floor and the footman off the entryway.
Besides the common room on the lower level, there was a small kitchen area with a dear little pot belly stove in which she could make her own tea—the maid had to help with other food and Emmaline usually took her dinner with her family in residence. If she wished to be more formal, there was a tiny parlor across the narrow hall from the footman’s room that she’d decorated in a pretty, but not overblown, style in sky blues and silver. The other tiny space that didn’t have a door was off the kitchen, but it fit a stout wooden table, and this she used as her makeshift stillroom. Already, there were bundles of drying herbs and flowers hanging from the ceiling and in front of the equally tiny window. Glass bottles and jars awaited tinctures and other things she’d been commissioned to put together by friends and ladies from the village.
Sometimes interacting with people terrified her, but if she didn’t push herself, she wouldn’t grow.
Upstairs, there were three rooms—the largest one she’d claimed for her bedchamber. One of the smaller rooms wasanother bedroom in the event of guests, while the other belonged to the maid. Above that was an attic space filled with all sorts of things she hadn’t had time to investigate.
In this way, Emmaline wasn’t quite so alone on this new venture, but she was far enough away from the manor house that it felt as if she’d gained some independence.
“There is nothing else to do except gather some peppermint.” As she said that, Emmaline brought a plate of small honey cakes over to the table from the stove. They’d come out of the oven a few hours ago, and were doused with a mixture of honey and brandy infused with a few sweet herbs and spices that were thought to have aphrodisiac properties. Once the cakes were finished soaking up the mixture, she would pack them into a box and deliver them to one of her friends.
Apparently, there was a major visiting the village who the girl had an eye on and she hoped for a romance. She’d ordered the love spell from Emmaline, and if it was successful, it would boost her apothecary business.
With a smile, Emmaline moved a hand over the plate of cakes. She’d found an ancient Greek recipe book that included spells and things. One of them happened to be a love spell, or rather a fetching spell that would bring a lover from beyond to the person who required it. The trouble was, the recipe and incantation had been written in faded handwriting, in a mix of Latin and Greek, and language had always been her downfall with the governess.
But there was no harm in improvising, right? She’d included ingredients in the vanilla honey cakes that would ensure desire and arousal. The dry tea mixture in a small glass jar next to the cakes included an herb a midwife she’d chatted with said inflamed the senses, as well as the dried petals of the damiana flower, orturnera diffusa. Not native to England, she’d procured it from a shop in the village, brought back by a sailorin the Caribbean to use in poultices and sachets that would keep foul odors away.
The tea, along with the cakes, would help her friend with securing her love interest once the man partook of them. “May your love be true and sure, and may the romance be strong and last a lifetime, and may the passion you find be all-consuming and burn bright.”
Was it a love spell worthy of a witch? Probably not. Was it good enough for a first attempt by a novice? Absolutely. Besides, weren’t such things all in good fun? There was no such thing as magic, even on this All Hallow’s Eve when the sun hadn’t yet set.
“Mary, I’m for the garden. Will you come with me?”
“I’ll meet you out there, Miss Hasting,” the maid said, from somewhere upstairs.
With another grin, Emmaline took herself off to the back garden in search of peppermint for a tea she wished to dry, for itdidsoothe an upset stomach, which she suffered in moments of high stress or aggravation, all of which came by testing her independence.
“Icando this. Icanstand on my own. Iwillcease being afraid,” she murmured to herself as she slipped into the garden, and the cool autumnal air enclosed her.
Chapter Two
October 31, 1819
Ivy Cottage
Bedfordshire, England
