Page 15 of Magic Touch
Five
WILLIAM
I should go home, and at some point, I must. Prudence asked if any of my staff could be trusted to understand what was going to happen and accompany us to the cottage. It wouldn't do to bring any of my household staff into danger. My mind is a jumble of new information and emotions.
Instead of going home, I take Esme and Minerva to the shop, where Esme explains the contents of every shelf. The amount of medicinal knowledge these women keep in their heads is miraculous. At first, it's fascinating. After an hour, it's mind-numbingly boring.
"Miss Honeywell, shall I wait to take you back to your friends?" Abruptly interrupting their debate over the uses of milk thistle was perhaps rude, but if I am to be subjected to a life of herbal remedies, I shall demand to be bound after the first day.
Minerva smiled. "I can walk, Sir William. There is no need to wait on me."
Escaping this dissertation floods me with relief. I bow and pull on my overcoat.
Esme's hand on my arm stops me at the door. "Is something wrong?"
Her looking into my eyes is almost enough to make me reconsider. I switch my gaze to Minerva, who is watching from the counter. When I look back at Esme, I ask, "Is this what my life is to be? I can see that you have a passion for such things, but I'm sure I never shall."
"I don't know what path you will choose for the use of your magic." Her smile is soft like a summer breeze.
"Then there are more choices for someone with our type of magic than salves and ointments?" My brain is numb from the herbal lesson I've overheard this hour.
Joy lights up her entire face. "You can do whatever you want or nothing at all, but you must learn to control your magic, lest it control you."
Flooded with relief, I draw a long breath. "I will be back for you in three days. Send word if you need me sooner."
There is no reason she would have any need for me to return before the appointed day of our departure. Yet, I want her to know I am at her service. I don't even know this woman, but I want more of her. If she is half as affected by me as I am by her, it is a good thing the high priestess is going to the country with us.
"That is kind." She moves back and makes a curtsy. "I will be ready in three days. Goodbye, Sir William."
With a bow, I say, "Until then, Miss O'Dwyer."
I miss her the moment I stride out of her shop. If a man can be bewitched, which I suppose I should find out if one can, I am smitten. As it is totally inappropriate, I shake away the notion and get in my carriage. "Home please, Samuel."
On the ride, I wonder what the future has in store for me. I'm deep in thought when Samuel stops the carriage and opens the door.
Rogers awaits at the door to my house and takes my overcoat.
"Do you know where Dove is, Rogers?" I ask about my valet.
"He is below, sir. Shall I send him to you?"
"That would be helpful. I'll be in my study." I turn and head down the hall to my study, which has a fine library taking up one entire wall. Sun streams in from the large windows behind my desk, and I run my hand along the row of books at eye level. My gaze rises several shelves higher. Some books at the far end were my father’s, and his before him. I haven’t paid them much attention since I was a boy, but I trace the bindings with their faded titles. After pulling down three tomes, I place them on my desk and pull out a piece of parchment from the drawer. I need to write to my mother. I open the inkwell but close it again.
What do I tell her?
There's a knock, and Dove enters. "You need something, sir?"
Dove and I served together in France. He needed employment when the war ended, and I needed a valet. I can think of no one I trust more. "Dove, may I ask you something in confidence?"
He blinks several times, then straightens. "Of course, sir."
"I'm to take a journey with Miss O'Dwyer and another lady. We're to go to the country, where she will teach me how to use a new skill I've recently acquired. Do you think there are members of the staff besides yourself who would be discreet if they saw things that are impossible?" I am making a complete muck of this.
Tall and lean, Henry Dove wears his brown hair brushed straight back from his forehead, and his dark eyes rarely show emotion. Now they shine with a hint of interest. "I don't know what you mean, sir."
"Perhaps you should sit." I toy with a deep scratch in the top of my large mahogany desk, and indicate the chair in front of the desk.
With an eyebrow raised, he sits.
