Chapter Six
Six
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The ruse had fallen apart faster than Sadie expected, and not due to a mistake on her end. Lady Marstede had simply underestimated her son’s willingness to question what was going on. The baron knew she was lying, but instead of kicking her out, he was determined to unravel her secrets.
Which would be fine if the only secret Sadie was hiding was her real identity. But she had a bigger secret, and if the local lord discovered she was a telepath, her welcome not only in his manor but in Lamsdel would soon disappear.
Sadie wandered around the ground-floor rooms of the manor, the movement helping her order her thoughts as she considered what to do. She could tell the dowager that she had changed her mind and scurry home. Back to the shop and Mr. Ferman and the stifling life that was the best she could hope for.
She looked around the sitting room she had ended up in.
It was elegance without pretension, delicate rather than ostentatious.
Surprisingly comfortable, and far more appealing than the rooms Sadie shared with Pippa.
She crossed the cream rug decorated with swirls of lavender and sage and stood next to the mauve drapes, looking out over the untamed beauty of the grounds.
The problem was, she didn’t want to leave early. Which meant the wisest thing she could do was add power to her charm as much as possible and follow the same rules she normally imposed on herself. Head down, mouth closed, polite smile locked in place.
With a snort, she realized that was probably exactly how proper ladies were told to behave.
It certainly described Lady Helen, the only other guest she had met so far.
She turned away from the window and looked over the room once more.
She could pretend to fit here, but that wasn’t what the dowager had invited her for.
Moreover, it wasn’t why she wanted to stay.
It wasn’t the cultivated parts of Marstede that called to her, rather the wildness that was accepted alongside.
If Sadie planned to stay, then she wanted to embrace that wildness. She wanted to argue with the baron and distract him with how she ate a slice of peach—a surprising insight from her magic that she had no qualms against using. In short, she wanted to be herself.
Surely, she could maintain her secret for a single month? Sadie had lasted longer in many of the places she had lived. She could enjoy this respite from iron control, then slip back into the obscurity of her normal life.
Decision made, Sadie began to explore the manor in earnest. There were still hours to go before she needed to return to the lavender sitting room to hear Lady Marstede’s plans for her son and guests, and Sadie didn’t plan to waste a single minute of this month-out-of-time.
The first few rooms were exactly what she expected in a noble’s home.
A dining room that could fit scores of people.
A parlor that took the elegance of the sitting room and added gilding and brocade.
A billiards room that had Sadie wondering just how shocked everyone would be if she picked up a cue and had a go.
Perhaps she’d save that for her second day.
Sadie closed the door to the billiards room and moved on to the west wing of the manor. That was where she found it. In the farthest corner of the house, right next to a door that led out to a weed-tangled herb garden on the edge of the forest.
A brewing room.
The equipment was of the best quality, the shelves full of ingredient jars labeled with ancient dates, and the grimoires coated in dust. Someone had once valued the space, but not recently.
Sadie closed the door behind herself and moved to the bookshelf.
She pulled out the oldest-looking grimoire from the top shelf and flipped open to the first page.
Brews and Concoctions by Reginald Huxley
It was the personal potion book of one of the baron’s ancestors.
Sadie quickly checked other books, and while not every one was penned by a Huxley, enough were—and over a long enough span—that it was clear the family had a strong history of producing witches.
She reached for the most recent book and wasn’t sure if she was relieved or disappointed not to find the name Nicholas Huxley inside.
Relieved, she told herself. There was no reason for her to want him to be a potion-brewer.
Since he wasn’t, and the room clearly hadn’t been used in a long time, there was a chance Sadie could sneak in and brew a potion or two of her own.
The ingredients available left much to be desired, but combined with the plants she could gather within a few steps of the door, there were several basic brews she could manage.
She couldn’t go on to sell the potions, but the ones she was thinking of were common enough that she or Pippa would probably find a use for them themselves, and Sadie could simply pretend she had bought them if her friend asked.
Sadie stared at the jars of ingredients with longing, but forced herself to leave the room for the time being.
It was too close to noon to let herself get distracted by a potion.
In fact, she should probably head to the lavender sitting room now.
Sadie wanted to be the first one there so she could observe the other women as they entered.
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Nicholas waited until the last moment to enter the lavender sitting room. He was not the last one to arrive, though. His mother gave him a look for cutting it so close, but said nothing aloud, as to do so would require chastising one of her guests as well.
He looked around the room, noting that the only two open spots for him to sit were on either side of Miss Candile.
He opted to remain standing. Coming to a stop next to the chair where his mother perched—and on the opposite side of the room from Miss Candile—Nicholas took in the women already in the room.
For the most part, this study told him nothing new. They were dressed in similar styles as the day before, they held themselves the same, and he knew before it happened which would meet his gaze and which would look away. Except Miss Pentry. He still had plenty to figure out about her.
Nicholas expected her to stare him down, but she was too busy watching the rest of the people in the room to pay him any mind.
She had tucked herself deeply into a wingback chair, and her eyes were bright with interest as she watched the other women …
do nothing. Yet the way she tilted her head this way and that, she found their silence fascinating.
Two minutes after the hall clock finished chiming the noon hour, the door opened one last time and Lady Beatrice rushed in. “Sorry, I lost track of time.”
She took the open space on the settee next to Miss Candile, not seeing the other woman’s glare, and sat with her back straight and her hands clasped in her lap.
Nicholas’s mother smiled indulgently. “I’m glad you are comfortable enough in the manor to lose track of time.
” She stood up. “Now then, everyone, let us talk about what the coming month will bring. I won’t be coy.
We all know the purpose of your visit. My son, Nicholas, is in need of a bride, and you ladies are the perfect candidates. This is not a competition, however.”
Lady Marstede looked over the women slowly, waiting until each met her eyes before moving on.
“I want this month to be about getting to know one another and determining if matrimony would be a happy union. To that end, I have several activities planned. I also request that we eschew formality for the month and treat each other as friends and family so that we are not bogged down in the dictates of politeness, nor worrying about rank and relative stations. I invite you all to call me Madeleine.”
She turned her attention to Nicholas, and he recognized the cue for what it was. This, at least, was no hardship. “Please call me Nicholas.”
His mother’s smile widened. “Most of you met last night over supper, but as we have one final addition to our party, I should like to introduce everyone again, this time forgoing titles. Perhaps each of you could give your name and share something about yourself.”
Miss Candile jumped to her feet. “I am Abigail, and my grandfather is the Duke of Kinseran.”
“Thank you, Abigail,” Madeleine responded smoothly, though Nicholas noted the way the skin at her eyes tightened. Miss Can— Abigail’s need to mention her connection to a duke every time she opened her mouth had pushed even his mother to the edge of forbearance.
Abigail sat back down, and the other ladies stayed frozen, staring straight ahead. Except Miss Pentry. She took in the room, glanced at Madeleine, and slowly rose to her feet. “My name is Sadie, and I love swimming.”
Abigail sniffed, her chin lifting, but the rest of the guests relaxed at this admission of an unladylike hobby.
Jane Markens rose and tucked the blond curl her maid had intentionally left loose behind her ear.
“I am Jane.” She bit her lip and looked at the floor.
Then the rest of her introduction came out in a flurry of words said practically atop each other. “I enjoy making potions.”
Three of the six women Nicholas’s mother had invited recoiled at that admission.
Half the potentials eliminated in one go, in his opinion.
He had no intention of marrying a woman who distrusted magic.
Even if it wasn’t discomfort about magic, but shock that a gentlewoman would admit to being a witch, he still didn’t want that in a wife.
Not when it was likely his own magic would be inherited by any children they had.
He would not subject a daughter to a mother who treated a core aspect of her nature as a liability.
Jane, Sadie, and Beatrice were now the only women he felt compelled to still give a fair chance to. The others he’d be polite to, and play his mother’s games with, but he felt no need to give them any consideration beyond that.