Chapter One
January 1816 — Hertfordshire, England
High Mage Gaius Darkwood,of Pemberley in Derbyshire, patted the withers of his horse as he exhaled and drew his eyes up to scrutinize his friend. “It is a universal truth that when a bachelor such as yourself purchases a longstanding vacant house with little natural draw—there must only be one reason.”
Mage Blythesome’s horse twitched his sable ears and mane, as though in sympathy with its rider’s chastisement.
“And that reason is?” smiled Mage Blythesome, impervious to Darkwood’s somber tone.
Darkwood raised his eyebrows into a patronizing glance. “Naturally, so you may seek out someone to marry.” His voice drawled, unamused.
Blythesome laughed, his head tipping back. “Come off it, Dark. My intention has nothing to do with marriage. It is a good place to put my money, and what’s the harm if it comes with the introduction to new, pretty faces? The grounds are lovely, the house is well built.”
High Mage Darkwood scoffed and rubbed the neck of his ebony mount. The reverse rhetoric he employed hadn’t quite done its trick. But it would.
He’d keep at it. He couldn’t directly change Blythesome’s mind, but the power of persuasion ran thick in his blood, in his ley lines, in his heart. Blythesome would come around, eventually.
“But you forget, Blythe, that this part of Hertfordshire has a dearth of power. You’d never know if someone even had abilities, for they would likely not manifest here.” Darkwood raised his eyebrows then tightened them shrewdly.
Blythesome jumped down from his horse and smiled. “I shall never have as much magic as you my friend, nor am I quite so fastidious as to how I allay myself in its pursuit. The country has charmed me, and therefore, I shall remain.” He offered a cheery nod and walked toward the groom house.
“No doubt off to obligatorily receive every magicless country father within a ten-mile radius,” Darkwood muttered as he galloped into the large trees behind them. Maybe he’d find something in that forest. He had reason to believe—and strong evidence too, that whoever stole his relic had lately been close to Netherfield.
* * *
“There are two exquisite pieces of news, my darlings, that I must tell you all!” cried Mistress Retton to her daughters in her drawing room. The plump older woman paid little attention to her outrageous volume or the unkempt wisps of grey hair that wriggled out of the few brown streaks of her bun.
Cassia, the second of the three daughters, drew in her breath, habitually bracing herself against her mother’s antics. Mistress Retton waited until all eyes were on her, theatrically building the suspense.
“Tell me, Mother, what it is,” cried Alyria, the youngest, silliest daughter, indulgently cocking one brow.
“Theverybest news,” said Mistress Retton, rolling the ‘r’ for extra effect. She drew breath and stretched out her hands to begin, when suddenly the library room door swung open.
The girls’ father, potbellied and white haired, walked across the room twirling his eyepiece, his nose barely venturing from his thick tome. “Girls,” he drawled, nonchalantly turning toward Cassia, “did you hear, Netherfield Park is finally let? And by an eligible gentleman, a mage of power and fortune.”
An audible gasp sprang from Alyria. Their mother gasped too, but quickly sent a glare toward her husband. Cassia watched her father in amusement, as her mother rose to her feet in a rage. “Master Retton! How you try my nerves! That is the most exciting piece of gossip I have had inyearsand you have stolen it right out from under me. Do you not understand how you vex me?”
“I am quite sorry, madam,” he said evenly. Cassia knew too well how tense her parents’ marriage had always been. “Are you sharing news just now? Perhaps I should not divest myself of my other piece of information then. I would hate to interrupt.”
“More news—surely what can he mean?” cried Alyria. “Do ask him, Mother!”
Cassia eyed her older sister, Gynelle, who sat with perfect posture, her golden hair curled, rosy mouth poised. She was the beauty of the family. She possessed a perfect temperament. There Gynelle sat, never ruffled, and never over the top. Her natural good humor was unparalleled, and a true blessing in this family. It wasn’t a true magical skill though, for none of Master Retton’s daughters possessed magical ability. Nor did his wife.
“It can’t be more exciting than the rumors I know,” continued Alyria, ever loquacious, and now pulling on their silent father’s arm, “for the regiment will be stationed here in less than a month, according to Colonel Laine.” She finished this sentence with a snort of excitement.
“Good heavens,” blew out Master Retton, shaking out the elbow Alyria had just relinquished. “Then we shall have our hands full. Mage Blythesome, the new owner of Netherfield, is coming to the ball Saturday next.” Alyria looked as though she would swoon, and Cassia noticed Gynelle’s face even turn up into a slight smile. “And in a fortnight, we shall have the pleasure of receiving our cousin, Master Clovis, next in line to my entail.” Their father tucked his book under his arm and brushed his hands together. “Thatwas my other piece of news. But if any of those beaux do not suit, I suppose after that you ladies can fall upon the regiment, if you have any sort of stamina.”
At this point Mistress Retton grabbed Alyria’s hands and danced about, as if a young lady herself. Once she settled, she waved her handkerchief like a victorious battle flag. “Oooo, girls, what good fortune!” she cried. “Gynelle, you are the eldest, and by far the prettiest, so you must have Mage Blythesome, with his handsome house and powerful lineage. I hear everything he touches turns to gold.”
Gynelle demurred pleasantly on the settee, but Cassia couldn’t help but roll her eyes. She hadn’t been around too many men with true power and magical ability; this was too much. Her mother was generally apt to embrace the preposterous. Turned things to gold? Impossible.
Her silly, magicless mother was granted the title of mistress only upon her marriage to their father. Master Retton did have magic—any book he read he could recall verbatim, and he really could have become one of the best scholars in the land. He had once confided to Cassia why he had chosen the magicless woman as his spouse. He had married her because he wanted her father’s large book collection, and although he now enjoyed a library of nearly a thousand books, it had come at the price of a very trying, frivolous wife. He had told Cassia just how much he regretted such a decision, claiming his magic had made him greedy and cluttered his mind. Since such a recounting, Cassia had distrusted all magic.
Alyria and Mistress Retton had been whispering together for several minutes, and Master Retton had long since passed through the room back to his study. Trying to include Cassia, Mistress Retton raised her voice. “Cassia, you ought to go for a man of the militia.Theywon’t mind that you are plain and have no natural magical ability. No, officers don’t care a thing for magical power. And, fair Gynelle, your beauty and temperament won’t be lost on Mage Blythesome! Oh I dare say, Alyria, one of the very best officers will fall in love with you once they’ve seen you dance!” Cassia then beheld the natural smotherings and flutterings that existed between the youngest daughter and their mother when overly excited. Rapturous clapping and abundant hugs threatened to squash Cassia and Gynelle into oblivion, or at least push them out toward the garden. Cassia clamped her eyes shut, sought escape, and abandoned her embroidery.
“I must seek some fresh air,” Cassia declared. “Gynelle, tell me you’ll join?”
“Most readily,” cried the eldest sister, trying for a pleasant smile toward their mother, and the two left the suffocating drawing room.
