Page 9 of Magick in the Night
“I—” Eliza hesitated, fumbling the loaf from its pan onto the wooden board. “The Earl is not so handsome as all that.”
A small, knowing smile tugged at Helena’s mouth. “Ah. I did not say which man I meant, child. Yet you seem quite certain.”
Eliza froze, the knife still in her hand. “Grandmama, that is not fair.”
“It is also not untrue,” Helena replied, her tone mild but her eyes bright with amusement. “I am old, Eliza, but far from blind and not yet dead. The grave is far enough away that I can still appreciate the sight of such a well put together man.”
Eliza’s blush deepened. “It hardly matters how handsome he is when he is so terribly high-handed and proud. Arrogant, even.”
“Of course,” Helena said agreeably, stirring the soup. “All the best men are.”
Eliza stared at her. “That is not remotely comforting.”
“It was not meant to be. Merely true.”
Eliza huffed out a breath, crossing to set the loaf on the table between them. “You seem determined to think me smitten, when in truth I find him quite intolerable.”
“Indeed. So intolerable that you cannot cease speaking of him,” Helena murmured.
“I am not speaking of him!”
Her grandmother’s brows rose. “Then I must have imagined this entire conversation.”
Eliza bit back a retort and busied herself with arranging the table — bowls, spoons, the small crock of butter. Her hands moved briskly, efficiently, though her pulse still thudded far too quickly beneath her skin.
Helena, watching her granddaughter with a fond, knowing eye, said nothing more. She merely poured the soup, set it down, and began to eat with deliberate calm.
Eliza followed suit, determinedly silent. They ate without speaking, the only sounds the clink of spoons and the muted sigh of the fire.
When the meal was done, Eliza rose to clear the table. “I think I’ll retire early tonight,” she said, avoiding Helena’s gaze. “There are herbs that must be gathered before dawn. They’re strongest when the moon is still high.”
Her grandmother looked up, her expression unreadable. “A wise plan,” she said softly. “Though I wonder whether the moon is the true reason for your haste.”
Eliza froze for only an instant before forcing a small smile. “You always see more than you should.”
“It is a grandmother’s privilege,” Helena said, leaning back in her chair. “Go on, child. Rest, if you can.”
Eliza inclined her head, her composure brittle. “Good night, Grandmama.”
She climbed the narrow stairs to her room, the floorboards creaking beneath her light steps. But when she reached her bed, she did not lie down. She stood by the small window instead, staring out into the dark line of the forest beyond.
The Earl’s face rose unbidden in her mind — the breadth of his shoulders in his dark coat, the clean angles of his features, the quiet authority in his voice when he’d spoken at church.
She pressed her fingertips to her lips, willing the image away. “This will not do,” she whispered to herself. But even as she said it, she knew it was far too late for such vows.
The forest was quieterthan usual that morning. It was almost as if the entire world were still sleeping. Or it might have been, if the remembered fear from previous days hadn’t still lingered.
Eliza told herself it was nothing — merely the natural hush of an early autumn day — but she did not quite believe it. Her eyes flicked over her shoulder every few steps, scanning the tree line and watching for the slightest ripple of movement. Every rustle of leaves set her nerves on edge, and every snap of a twig beneath her boots sent a quick jolt of tension through her chest.
She despised the sensation — this watchfulness, this creeping suspicion — and yet she could not shake it. These woods had been her sanctuary all her life. She had wandered them as a child and worked within them as a woman, and they had always felt like an extension of herself. Never once had they inspired unease. Until now.
And still, she came. With the winter coming on, the herbs her grandmother required could not be ignored, and she depended upon Eliza to gather them more and more as she aged.. More than that, perhaps, she would not allow herself to be driven away from lands that she’d run tame through all her life by fear and shadows.
She was so intent on glancing behind her that she failed to notice what lay before her — until she walked directly into it. Or rather, intohim.
The impact sent her stumbling backward with a startled cry, her basket slipping in her grasp. A pair of strong hands reachedout, encircling her upper arms and holding her upright when she would have fallen ignobly to the forrest floor.
“Good heavens!” she exclaimed, one hand pressed to her racing heart. “Are you attempting to frighten me into an early grave?”
