Sadie laughed. “Courtship among the nobility is ridiculous.”
Nicholas didn’t disagree, but he wondered at the way she said it. As if she was so far removed from the nobility that the observation was one of only intellectual interest. Then he wondered why it surprised him—he knew she was lying. He knew she hadn’t come from Algimon, which meant she probably wasn’t a Pentry. Why, then, did he assume she was still a member of the gentry?
“Courtship in general is ridiculous,” he responded, ignoring what Sadie had given away for now.
“I wouldn’t go that far. If you don’t have to worry about society making the decision for you based on some silly thing like making eye contact for a second too long in a public area, then it serves a purpose. Courtship allows people to get to know each other before they decide to spend the rest of their lives together. At least, it should.”
“It should, but even without the rules of propriety that society imposes, it doesn’t. People try too hard to be whateverthey think the other person wants. It is a lie from the beginning, hardly a solid foundation for a relationship.”
Sadie didn’t respond, suddenly speeding up her steps and entering the kitchen ahead of Nicholas. He paused in the hallway. He hadn’t been trying to condemn her—she had already admitted that she had no plans to marry him. Besides, while she was hiding things from him, she wasn’t trying to convince him she was being honest.
Oh well. If guilt pushed her to reveal her secrets, he’d take it.
Nicholas pushed into the kitchen and found Sadie already had the cook gathering ingredients for her.
“Honey to cover the flavor of the valerian is an excellent suggestion,” Sadie said, accepting a small pot from his cook. She spooned a dollop of golden honey into a mug, sprinkled a generous amount of some dried herb—maybe it was the chamomile—from another jar on top, and then poured boiling water over it all. She stirred the mixture, then set the spoon aside and turned to the cook. “Did you find any lavender sprigs?”
Nicholas remained by the door, the others not even noticing his presence, and watched. Sadie counted out three sprigs of lavender—he was certain she had carefully chosen the number, not simply taken a few at random—and dipped them into the mug of tea. The way she did it screamed of deliberation. She held the sprigs perfectly vertical, in the very center of the mug. Then, slowly, she began to swirl them around in precise circles that gradually increased in size. On the seventh and final pass, the stalks brushed the edges of the mug, and Sadie pulled them out.
She wasn’t stirring; she was brewing. Unlike Jane, Sadie knew how to make a calming potion. This tea wasn’t technically a potion, but she had enhanced its properties magically. Nicholas knew little about brewing, but three and seven were significant numbers in all forms of magic. He recognized theclear intent Sadie had brought to every motion as she had made the tea, too.
He finally stepped further into the kitchen. “I’ll carry it back to the parlor.”
Sadie didn’t answer, letting him pick up the mug with nothing more than a shrug. Then she went to the door and held it open for him.
He waited until the door closed once more, leaving them alone in the hall to speak. “Why didn’t you offer to brew the potion yourself, instead of asking Jane?”
She jerked away from Nicholas, and he was glad he had chosen to take the mug, otherwise she’d have spilled the scalding contents all over herself.
“I’m no witch,” she insisted in a surprisingly fierce tone for how quietly she spoke.
Her eyes grew darker, and Nicholas knew her fear of being labeled a witch was something different than the nervousness Jane had felt when announcing her love for potions to everyone. Whatever reason Sadie had for hiding her magic, it ran far deeper than fear of society clucking over her unladylike behavior.
And despite that fear, she knew how to brew potions well enough to enhance the tea without referencing a grimoire. So, she didn’t always hide her power. Or she hadn’t at one point.
Nicholas wanted to know what had happened to make her fear claiming her magic in the open. It had to have been terrible to convince Sadie to hide rather than fight. But he couldn’t stand seeing that terror in her eyes, so he didn’t push.
“My mistake.” He kept his face forward, but watched her as closely as possible from the corner of his eyes all the same. “I shouldn’t have assumed a knowledge of herbs made you a potion master. It is easy to forget that potions build on the natural properties of the ingredients used and that mundaneconcoctions can do wonders even without magic. I’ll tell you the same thing I told Jane. Marstede has a brewing room, and you are welcome to use it during your stay; even if you aren’t mixing up potions.”
He caught the merest glimpse of intense longing before Sadie schooled her expression once more. “I’m no brewer—of potions or anything else. I simply know a bit about herbs.”
He nodded, but couldn’t help but offer her one more chance. “If you change your mind about that, the door will still be open.”
“I won’t change my mind.”
Eleven
???
It took everythingin Sadie to project a calmness she didn’t feel as she followed Nicholas back into the parlor. He’d understood what she was doing when she mixed the tea. He knew.
Well, he didn’t know she was a telepath, but he knew she was a witch. He’d be wondering, now, about what form her power took. He’d be watching, waiting for her to betray herself.
And yet …
Nothing in the thoughts that had drifted to the surface of his mind had given her the impression that he cared what her power was. For once, his thoughts hadn’t perfectly matched what he was saying, but only because he was trying to set her at ease and pretend he bought her lie.
He hadn’t offered the use of the brewing room in order to trap her into admitting her magical affinity. He simply wanted her to have the option to craft potions without explaining herself. Despite hearing his thoughts, she couldn’t truly believe he wouldn’t turn around and demand to know her power, though.
