The two most hunted men in the room stood in front of them, with their backs at an angle from the girls, perusing the dance floor. Blythesome’s face glowed with perspiration, and he had only left his set to cajole his friend.
“Now Dark, don’t be so austere! There are quite a few young ladies without partners. I must coerce you to join us.”
High Mage Darksome let out a gust of air, as though in disbelief. “Youare coming to coerceme?You ought to know it will never work. I didn’t come to Netherfield to dance.” He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “You, my friend, stood up with the only young woman with magical abilities in the room.”
Magical abilities? What could he mean? Sure, Gynelle had a naturally good temperament...but she wasn’t magical. How could he know what magic existed? And how could he be so fastidious? To not interact with anyone who did not prove magical—he’d have to forego acquaintances with everyone in Meryton. This part of Hertfordshire boasted no mages of any sort.
“She did not hint of any ability to me,” Blythesome beamed, “but I feel like she just must be magical. Regardless, I say she’s lovely.” Blythesome’s profile smiled and nodded eagerly, “Her youngest sister, they say, is a skilled dancer, so if for no other reason, you ought to ask her…”
“Good heavens, have you heard her speak? When someone opens their mouth and inserts their foot, even if it is a light, dancing foot, I cannot abide such nonsense.”
It was a harsh sentiment, but it did contain some truth.
Blythesome smiled, undeterred. “There is the middle daughter. Master Lywin informed me she is a heb, having no power, like his own children. Notwithstanding, I danced with her already and a quicker wit or more pleasant girl you won’t find anywhere.”
Cassia stifled a wince as the pompous man stole a glance over his shoulder in her direction and then faced his head forward, with a lowered tone.
“Oh Blythe. She is neither powerful enough, handsome enough, nor witty enough to tempt me. You waste your smiles. Go bestow them elsewhere.”
Cassia’s voice caught in her throat. Howdarehe. The air around her felt cold and oppressive suddenly, despite the warm ballroom.
Cidel looked away swiftly and clenched her skirt.
She had heard it too, then.
Cassia dropped her voice to a tiny whisper. “Do not be uneasy for me, Cidel. No part of me wished to dance with him before he spoke such things and this has solidified that I do not wish to dance with him now.”
“They say he owns half of Derbyshire.”
“The miserable half,” said Cassia as she stood and walked away.
* * *
Gaius Darkwood inched further away from his friend and surveyed the room.
Blythesome turned back to the dance as that Retton sister, the middle one, with the dark curls passed him. Gaius had just declared her unremarkable, but their eyes caught for a moment, hers wide and intense.
They were very fine eyes. Hazel-brown, with hints of gold.
She quickly looked away but he continued to watch her, noting her majestic gait. The smoothness of it reminded him of his favorite winged creature, the one he had known since childhood, who usually remained at Derbyshire. The one who had brought news, yet again, of sensing his stolen relic. For half of the next set, he almost wished she was his partner.
But he held strong, not dancing once. Two sets later he found himself next to Blythesome who had somehow been reeled into Mistress Retton’s net.
“My Gynelle has been a favorite in Hertfordshire for years,” she claimed, with too much confidence. “One young man did wish to marry her. He wrote a few fine poems…”
The middle sister looked mortified at such a telling, nearly shielding Miss Retton from her mother as and the color in Miss Retton’s face had heightened considerably.
Finally Miss Retton’s sister thrust her hand out and cut off her mother. “And that was the ruin of it, you see.” She looked around the group with a small smile, glancing quickly past her mother’s frown until her eyes rested on his own.
Miss Cassia. Apparently the bold one, possessing the brightest eyes. Brown, but almost flecked with gold. Maybe he imagined the flecks.
Gaius found himself talking before he could stop himself. “I thought that poetry was the very mode to encourage affection.”
Miss Cassia smiled, which proved bewitching in itself, “Perhaps a healthy, solidified love. Words do hold power for those who wield them well. But in this circumstance, such prose had an adverse effect.”
“Then what, pray tell us, can one do to encourage affection?”
“Dancing,” she said, taking her sister by her hands, “even if one’s partner is not as powerful or beautiful as you would like.”
