Bacchus’s low voice was stern when he said, “Elsie is free of any such things, Mrs. Abrams. Her parents are no longer a part of her life.”
“No longer a part . . . ?” Mrs. Abrams looked at the duchess in bewilderment.
“Oh, the details are not so important, are they?” the duchess said, awkwardly trying to smooth things over.
“How so?” Mrs. Abrams protested. “Were you disowned, Miss Camden?”
The flush inched up Elsie’s cheeks. “I was not particularly owned to begin with. If you must know, I became separated from them at a young age. Which is why I am employed. I care for myself just fine.”
“Well.” She leaned into the settee’s backrest. “That is quite a shock. Your discovery of magic is the only thing that will spare you from the worst of gossip.”
Now the duchess flushed. “There will hardly be gossip—”
“There will always be gossip, Abigail—”
“Mrs. Abrams.” Bacchus’s tone was forceful now; he surprised Elsie by reaching over and taking her hand. The warmth of his fingers sent shocks up her arm and had her blushing for an entirely new reason. “I am grateful for your willingness to assist, but I believe we will have a very small wedding party that will not require much in the way of management. My own parents have passed, and I have no siblings to speak of, so the transaction will be a simple matter. I’m sure your skills would be put to good use elsewhere.”
Oh, Elsie could kiss him.
Mrs. Abrams clucked her tongue. “A marriage is a transaction, Master Kelsey. A wedding is not. My second youngest—of six, mind you—had a small wedding, yet it was still the talk of the town. There is the choir to consider, and flowers and guests’ attire must be in line with—”
“I hardly think what the guests wear is important,” Elsie sputtered.
Mrs. Abrams shot her a sharp look for being interrupted. “It matters a great deal. I would not want to wear the same color as the bride, for instance.”
Bacchus set his saucer down. “Then it is fortunate that you will not be invited.”
The room seemed to freeze. Elsie held her breath as both a sob and a laugh warred in her throat. She realized she was squeezing Bacchus’s hand, but could not seem to convince her fingers to loosen. Bacchus watched Mrs. Abrams with a lowered brow, his green eyes sharp. Mrs. Abrams’s eyes seemed to bulge further. The duchess’s mouth was a limp O, but she was the first to regain her composure.
“Alison,” she said shakily, “remember how I wanted your thoughts on the geraniums? They’re just on the east side of the house. Could I meet you there?”
“You most certainly shall.” Mrs. Abrams stood sharply, sticking her nose up in the air. She gave a final hard look to Elsie and Bacchus before turning her back on them and leaving out the door. Given her dignified, self-righteous manner, she likely thought she was being excused so the duchess could reprimand her guests.
A few seconds after she left, the duchess chuckled. “You do have a sharpness about you, Bacchus.”
Elsie released the breath she’d been holding. “Thank you,” she whispered. When Bacchus’s eyes slid to hers, her chest warmed, and she looked away.
“I didn’t think she’d be so bold,” the duchess went on. “You both have my sincerest apologies.”
“No matter,” Bacchus said. His hand remained entwined with Elsie’s. He must have forgotten he put it there. Would it be awkward to pull away? Elsie didn’t want to, but if Bacchus were doing it for mere show, well . . . half of their audience had departed.
Letting herself enjoy the touch of his palm a little longer, Elsie chose to get to the point. “I was curious, Duchess Scott, about one of our acquaintances. I, er, read about her retirement and was sad to see her go.”
“Oh?” The duchess smoothed her skirts. “Oh! You must mean Master Merton.”
Elsie nodded. “She was very kind to me when we met. I had been hoping to learn something more about her background.”
The duchess shook her head. “Honestly, I don’t know much. My husband was familiar with her these last couple of years, but we only really got to know her after Ida’s promising test with the drops.”
Elsie deflated. One dead end.
“I was quite surprised by her leaving. She had taken such an interest in Ida’s education . . . granted I didn’t think Ida wanted to go the spellmaking route, but she was a little disappointed to lose the attention.” She smiled. “I would give you her address so you could write, but I heard she’s left London for the country.”
Bacchus asked, “Do you know where in the country?”
But the duchess shook her head. “I’m not sure at all.” She looked over the teacups. “Here, let me get this taken care of, and we can talk of the wedding in earnest.” She stood and moved to the bellpull on the nearby wall.
Bacchus leaned in close. “I’ll contact Duchess Morris today and set up an appointment.”
Elsie nodded, resisting the urge to turn. He was close enough that their noses might brush, but she wanted to make this as comfortable for him as possible. At that thought, she carefully removed her hand from his grasp and settled it in her lap. “Thank you.”
They spoke nothing more on the matter.
Later that night, Bacchus used the magicked pencils to inform Elsie he would be picking her up in the morning to call on Duchess Morris. She woke early and waited by the window for a full forty-five minutes so she didn’t miss the stately black victoria carriage when it drove into town and pulled up beside the stonemasonry shop. Stringing her reticule over her wrist, she made sure to secure her hat and smooth her skirt before stepping out the front door. Bacchus was only a few paces away, coming up to retrieve her. Gentlemanly of him.
He offered her a soft smile—“Miss Camden”—and his arm.
She was struck by the formality, but took his arm, allowing him to guide her to the carriage. It was only as she stepped into it that she noticed Miss Alexandra Wright, one of the nosy daughters of the local banker, trotting down the lane from the direction of the saddler. Her eyes were round and curious, her attention directed at Bacchus.
Elsie sighed and stepped up into the two-seater vehicle, wishing it were a closed carriage so she could hide from the town’s greatest gossip, but it was not meant to be. Bacchus stepped up after her and took up the reins of two fine-looking hackneys. Elsie ignored the younger Miss Wright as they pulled past her, but she felt the other woman’s stare. All of Brookley would be talking by this evening.
In truth, she wouldn’t have minded the gossip, were everything playing out the way a normal courtship should. She was hardly ashamed of being seen with an enormous, handsome, master spellmaker. It mattered not a whit to her that his skin was deeply suntanned and his hair was long. Indeed, she liked the way the essence of him colored outside the lines, so to speak. Loved to see it rankle prim busybodies like Alexandra Wright.
It was just that, when Bacchus found a way to untangle himself from her mess and sailed home, leaving her behind in England, the gossips would know all about it. Their snickers, whispers, and rumors would only be an infection to Elsie’s broken heart, and she dreaded that.
As they pulled out of town, angling westward, Elsie buried the unpleasant thoughts and focused on the present. “I didn’t know you could drive.”
Bacchus’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “Did you presume I was too backward to acquire such a skill, or too refined to take up the reins?” He’d slipped into his Bajan accent.
Elsie smiled, relaxing into the bench a bit. “Is it possible to think you both?”
He slowed the victoria and moved it to the side of the road as a wagon passed, then encouraged the horses back into a trot. “You’re welcome to take the reins yourself.”