1. Chapter 1 #2
I pulled out my credit card and handed it to her before she could fight me on it.
“Get a deep conditioning hair mask, trim up those ends or cut it—I don’t care which—and get a blowout.
Personally, I think your color is gorgeous, but if you decide to dye it, don’t go red.
It would look terrible with your coloring and red hair is my thing.
” I shook my copper hair for emphasis. “And if you get a perm, you’re fired.
Your natural bounce is glorious and should not be messed with. ”
She opened her mouth, but I stood and squared my shoulders. “Meet me at the little café across from Cupid’s Confections when you’re done.” She shrugged her defeat and hurried off to the combination beauty parlor and barber shop that was the only option in this town.
The Trinket Trove was close enough that I could walk rather than drive. The sun warmed my shoulders, but I was glad for my peacoat as a chill breeze blew dried leaves across my legs.
I strode down the sidewalk, taking in downtown Austen Heights.
I’d never admit it to Charles, but it was quaint.
The downtown area consisted of historic brick stores with old-fashioned murals and hand-painted windows.
Old barrels acted as planter urns and teemed with chrysanthemums and goldenrod. It was nice, in its own way.
My main quarrels with the town were that it was too small and had too few people in it.
The only museum was a tiny building that smelled of botched taxidermy, and the food choices were completely lacking.
There was no art or music scene at all. Though when I asked, a bartender told me, unironically, that they hosted an open-mic night every other Tuesday.
The population was small and mostly Unmarked by magic, and those that were Marked were mostly lower-born fae.
Or Witches, like the Bennets, who were walking toward me on the sidewalk.
The youngest flipped her long brown hair and tugged at her older sister’s blue polyester sweater. “I need a new scrunchie, but I forgot my wallet and I never carry cash. Spot me, Kitty?”
“Fine, but I—” She grimaced as she spotted me.
I snapped my glamour in place so I’d appear calm and unbothered as I inclined my head briefly, increasing my speed as I passed them. I wasn’t quick enough to avoid hearing their whispers.
“Look, Lydia, the lofty Caroline Bingley is out among the common people.”
“Can you believe she dares to show her face after what her sister did?”
I held my head high and kept walking. No, this was not a town I could live in for long.
I would wither and die, like the mums in the barrel in front of me, which seemed to have been badly neglected.
I stopped walking and looked up at the blade sign jutting out toward the street—a picture of a rocking chair.
Big scrolling letters above the showcase window declared the store’s name, The Trinket Trove. Of course it was.
A bell tinkled overhead as I pushed open the door.
I braced myself for harsh, fluorescent lighting and was pleased to find the store lit by warm wall sconces and lamps scattered throughout the space.
I inhaled deeply. The scent of the room wasn’t exactly pleasant, but there was something about the smell created from combining aged wood, worn leather, and forgotten treasures from hundreds of homes that was a magic all its own.
Two men stood behind the counter—a thin, balding man in a burnt orange sweater that screamed Fast Fashion, and a younger, plumper man wiping an already-clean glass with a little cloth. Both were lesser fae.
“Just browsing,” I said before either of them could talk to me, and hurried past. Nothing could ruin a good shopping experience faster than an overattentive employee.
I tried to keep an open mind as I wound my way through the crooked aisles; if I had too clear of a picture of what I wanted, I might miss something unexpected and fabulous.
I ran my fingers along the grainy wooden arm of a child-sized rocking chair and paused to admire a collection of antique china. None of it moved me, so I kept looking, picking up a green glass vase here, a set of mahogany napkin rings there, as I wandered deeper into the store.
On top of a dresser with chipped blue-gray paint, I found a gorgeous wooden sculpture of a Celtic knot.
Each strand was crafted from a different type of wood: buttery oak, creamy maple, and deep, dark walnut.
It had just the whimsical feel I was going for.
I added it to my load and headed back toward the front counter.
As I turned a corner, I spied a back room that was mostly concealed by a red velvet curtain.
Glancing over my shoulder to make sure I was alone, I slipped through the curtain into a dimly lit storage room. Broken furniture perched in one corner, waiting to be restored. And in the far corner was the most exquisite full-length mirror I’d ever seen.
Time had softened its brass edges to a beautiful patina.
The glass must have been either replaced at some point, or enchanted, because it showed no signs of foxing or discoloration.
I smiled at my reflection. A figure stepped into the frame, a man whose face I couldn’t forget no matter how hard I tried.
Winston, my ex-fiance.
I spun quickly around to ask him what he was doing here, but there was no one behind me in the room. When I turned back to the mirror, only my face stared back at me.
I placed a hand on the cool metal of the frame, probing it with a trickle of magic. I leaned in closer, hoping it would change, that it would show me something new. But no, there it was again, his face, the face I’d been trying for months to forget.
But why?
I straightened my spine. I would uncover its mystery. I was never one to let a secret stay secret for long.
Regardless of any potential magical qualities, this mirror looked like it belonged in Rosings Park, and I absolutely had to have it. If I had this mirror, Lady Catherine would definitely hire me to redesign her home.
Now I just had to convince the shopkeeper to sell it to me even though it wasn’t on display.
I pushed back through the curtain and made my way to the front counter, where I donned my most charming smile.
“I’m Caroline Bingley,” I said, stretching my hand out to the balding man behind the counter who I had ignored when I’d entered.
His eyes brightened at my name and he exchanged a meaningful look at his assistant, who stopped pretending to clean and looked at me more closely. It seemed everyone in town had heard that Charles had moved in.
“Reggie McFarland,” he said with a little bow, “Owner of The Trinket Trove.”
I shook his hand. “Mr. McFarland, I have taken quite a liking to your shop. As a designer, I have the opportunity to make a lot of purchases, and it isn’t every day that I find such an extraordinary collection.”
He beamed at the praise and ran one hand over his balding head. “I do take great care to curate the best selection in the area.”
“Philip McIntyre,” the assistant said, extending his hand, although he still held the dusting rag.
“Nice to meet you.” I pretended I misunderstood his proffered hand and gave him my shopping basket. He placed the basket on the stack next to the front door and walked outside, where he began cleaning the front windows.
When Mr. McFarland had rung up my purchases, I moved as though to leave but paused by the door, turning casually back as though a thought had just occurred to me.
“As I was browsing, I happened to catch sight of an item that interests me. But it wasn’t on the showroom floor, it was tucked into a back room.
I’d be happy to pay extra to access your inventory that isn’t currently on display. ”
His eyes narrowed. “What exactly are you thinking?”
“I want the large, patina mirror with scrolled edges.”
Something I couldn’t read flashed across his expression. “Yes, of course. I’ll be right back.”
The bell dinged again and Sydney strolled in. She’d stuck with her natural chestnut color, which is what I’d been hoping she’d choose, but now it glowed with health. And the blowout made her look professional and pretty.
“Oh, thank goodness,” I said. “Now I can focus.”
“Glad I could help.” She rolled her eyes but she couldn’t hide the hint of a smile tugging up the corner of her mouth or the way her eyes sparkled. She looked good, and she knew it. Mission accomplished.
I glanced at my Cartier Ballon Bleu timepiece. “That was fast.”
“That’s the beauty of a small-town salon, I suppose, no wait and three hairdressers all eager to help out. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Yes, I found the most gorgeous mirror.”
As if on cue, Mr. McFarland came back up to the counter with the mirror in tow. “Isn’t it fabulous?” I asked Sydney.
She pursed her lips. “What are you planning on using it for?”
“Ultimately, it will end up at Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s. Doesn’t it just remind you of her?”
Sydney shook her head. “I’m sorry, I know you’re the one with the renowned taste, but this mirror is so basic. Nothing about it says Lady Catherine to me. Is this some sort of test?”
Mr. McFarland wouldn’t meet my eyes. He took a small, embroidered handkerchief from his pocket and wiped sweat from his temple.
Why would he be nervous? And why would Sydney describe this mirror as basic? “Sydney, will you please describe what you see when you look at the mirror?”
“Sure. The frame is made of particleboard and painted gold.”
I sucked in a breath. “It appears this is not the mirror I had admired earlier.”
Mr. McFarland’s face paled.
Sydney crossed her arms across her chest. “I can see through illusions.”
“My apologies,” he said in a faint voice. “I’m afraid I misunderstood the mirror you wanted. This is the only mirror I can offer you at this time.”