Cleaning Spells Before Courtship

1. Sage

SAGE

There was nothing Sage Ravenwing detested more than travel.

Leaving the comforts of home for an extended period of time, only to arrive at a place that provided less familiar entertainment and less surety about oneself, was the last thing he wanted to do.

This was especially true in the hot summer months, when the multiple layers and fine fabrics of his preferred wardrobe became more of a nuisance than a form of self-expression.

Sage had always taken great pride in his appearance.

Not even the weather could force him out of his coat or encourage him to undo a couple of buttons on his well-fitted waistcoat.

Sage was exceedingly aware of the perspiration gathered inside his shoes and on his upper lip.

He was focused hard on ignoring it when his carriage rocked wildly after hitting yet another rut in the dirt road.

The fan he’d been using flew out of his grip; he used both hands on his seat to stop his entire body from following it to the floorboards.

With a curse, he leaned forward to pick it up and immediately began waving it at his face again, grateful that his head had not bounced against the window this time, at least.

“Do take care!” he shouted.

There came no response. He was unsure if the coachman hadn’t heard him, or had simply stopped listening, but it made him feel better to voice his displeasure regardless.

The ride had been treacherous. Sage was beginning to wonder if they’d started aiming for the tracks and trenches in the worn country roads rather than trying to avoid them.

With a grimace, he adjusted his shoulders and stretched his back, working out the tightness in them the best he could.

The only reward was one satisfying pop , at which he let out a soft grunt.

His first order of business upon arrival at the estate would be to request a hot bath and a tonic strong enough to ease his aches from the journey.

With any luck, it would put him right to sleep and he could be a much better version of himself before he addressed the real matter at hand: why in the blazes had he been invited to Wyndham and Roger Wrenwhistle’s home?

With a heavy, irritated sigh, Sage set his fan down across his thighs and reached into his breast pocket to retrieve the letter.

Naturally, it had been written on the finest stationery available.

When it’d been brought to him on the footman’s silver tray, he nearly mistook it for a royal missive.

Upon further inspection, however, he discovered that the wax seal was instead stamped with a scrolling W that instantly set him on edge.

Sage eyed the letter in his hand again, just as critically as he’d done when it first arrived.

He had known straight away that the handwriting did not belong to Wyndham.

It was far too small and hurried. The name signed at the bottom confirmed that it had been sent instead by Roger Wrenwhistle, Wyndham’s husband.

Sage decided he would’ve been less surprised if it really had come from the palace.

Aside from still existing in the same social circles, there had been no contact between Sage and any member of the Wrenwhistle family since Wyndham and Roger’s wedding nine months prior.

Wyndham’s last words that night were to inform Sage that, without an apology to Roger for what he had done, there would be no forgiveness granted on his part.

Sage had not apologized to Roger. In truth, he found the whole thing to be overly dramatic and unnecessary. Why should he be remorseful for what he said when he was the one hurting? Roger had single-handedly taken everything Sage ever wanted.

The man he loved—the man who always claimed he would never marry—had been swept up into a whirlwind romance.

Wyndham displayed his love for all the world to see with a wedding spell so unbelievable that it left every witness to it forever changed.

Meanwhile, Sage got to watch it all happen right in front of him, completely helpless to stop it or the cleaving of his heart.

Roger had not offered an apology for that , had he?

So, he was left to wonder.

The letter itself was very brief as far as explaining why Roger was requesting his presence at their home outside of London.

The Season had ended, and all the best residents of the ton had dispersed to their summer homes, Sage’s family included.

He’d only just finished settling at the Ravenwing estate when he got the invitation.

It would’ve been far too convenient to get the letter beforehand and travel there directly from the city, of course, so instead he’d been so fortunate as to have all of his belongings packed twice within a fortnight and trundled across the countryside.

His mother reminded him that he likely did not need to bring everything he owned for a short stay with friends.

Sage had suggested that perhaps she go find someone else to bother.

The Wrenwhistles were not his friends. This was something else that Wyndham had made perfectly clear.

Sage could still feel the sting of each rejection the man had given him, some more painful than others.

They had eventually settled into a routine Sage could live with, if only to remain close.

He worked for years to earn the spot as Wyndham’s favorite plaything.

Each time he was requested at a party, or even on a random lonely night, it filled Sage with hope that maybe this would be the time Wyndham wanted to speak with him after their intimate encounter.

This would be the time Wyndham looked at him as though he meant something.

This would be the time that Wyndham confessed he was secretly in love with him, too.

But it never happened.

He knew he was a fool for accepting the invitation.

Whatever was to come of this visit, certainly it would not be found without the pain of unresolved feelings and questions that Sage likely did not even want the answers to.

His first instinct upon reading the letter had been to tear it to pieces and push it out of his mind completely.

Instead, he went to his desk, ordered one of the footmen to hurry up and unpack his pen and paper, and had his answer sent out immediately.

When they came to an abrupt stop a short time later, Sage assumed the coachman had finally done irreversible damage to the carriage after such rough treatment.

The thought of being forced to walk the rest of the way, however far it might be, instantly made his magic swirl with outrage in his chest. He drew in a breath as the door was opened, ready to let the footman know precisely how unhappy he was with the whole experience, but he was not given the chance.

“The Wrenwhistle estate, sir.”

Sage allowed himself to be helped out of the carriage.

His previous lack of attention to his surroundings meant he was forced to take in everything at once.

As his gaze swept over the immaculate shrubbery and bright flowers, the stone walkway without a speck of mud to be found, and the pristine facade of a tremendous country house, his indignation took on new life with a scowl.

It was everything he always imagined it would be.

Wyndham had described it to him once. But to see it in person was something else entirely.

This was the house he had dreamed of sharing with the man he loved, and now it belonged to someone else.

More than that, it had been crafted into a home.

Sage could feel it spilling from the place; every detail, every bloom, all a reflection of the family inside.

Sage shook his head. What had he been thinking by coming here?

A member of the staff opened the door. “Mr. Ravenwing, welcome.”

“I beg to differ,” Sage responded flatly. The man, who was dressed as a valet would be, did not falter.

“Mr. Roger Wrenwhistle has been eagerly awaiting your arrival. I was instructed to take you to him in his study without delay. If you would please follow me.”

The tonic and bath would have to wait, then.

Without another glance at the house or the second carriage carrying all of his belongings, Sage followed the man inside.

It was equally as perfect as the outside, decorated in the latest style with no expense spared.

The scent of citrus and mint in the air was fresh and welcoming, as was the slight breeze flowing across the entrance hall as they approached the stairs.

If he was preparing to meet anyone else, Sage might’ve wished to linger for a moment and allow the romantic aroma to help cover the stench of travel seeping from his pores.

Roger would be lucky if he did not remove his shoes and prop his rancid feet on his desk for good measure.

As they paused outside a closed door, Sage was suddenly filled with a wash of uncertainty.

Was Wyndham with him? Did Wyndham even know he was coming?

Roger was the only one to sign the invitation, and he had made no mention of his husband in the letter at all.

The valet knocked on the door before he opened it and stood back to allow Sage into the room.

“Mr. Ravenwing!”

Sage was not surprised to learn that Roger did not stand on ceremony and allow his valet to provide a proper introduction. He stood from the chair behind his desk and held a hand out to another on the opposite side.

“Please, have a seat. Notley, if you would be so kind as to shut the door.”