Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology, #1)(26)

He turned. Miss Camden gawked at the splendor around her, taking it in slowly, craning her head back to see the angelic mural on the ceiling overhead. Bacchus understood her wonder—he’d felt very much the same when he’d first beheld the rich house as a boy. His holding in Barbados was nothing to scoff at, but the island was small, and the plantation house was not nearly as elaborate as the ancestral homes owned by England’s elite.

He’d once hated all of it. Now he tolerated it fairly well.

“The spells?” he asked.

Miss Camden shook herself and strode toward the unlit fireplace on the far side of the room. She ran her hand over the mantel, then across a carved panel to a red drape. She paused. “Oh, yes. I see it.” She undid the spell quickly, and the curtain changed to an unfortunate teal. “Hmm.” She leaned closer, wiggling her fingers, and it changed again to blue.

Stepping back, she examined her work. “If one is to change fabric with spells, why not start with black or white? Something neutral?”

Bacchus rubbed his eyes. “I beg you not to discuss the décor choices with me, for it is a conversation I am loath to participate in.” He lowered his hand and caught that amused smirk on her face once more. “Please continue, before the duchess returns.”

Her expression blanched. She nodded curtly and moved on to the next drape, dismissing its overlaid spells until it, too, returned to blue. Bacchus, meanwhile, used novice spells to shift the color of the first curtain to burgundy. Color-changing spells were some of the first he’d learned as an adolescent. Hopefully it was the shade the duchess had in mind, for he might go mad from the tediousness of it if she asked him to do it again.

After the curtains came the columns and walls, until everything was burgundy and cream instead of red and white. A tight headache bloomed in the center of Bacchus’s forehead, and his customary exhaustion began to suck at his limbs, despite the early hour. He could think of a few people, his late father included, who would have had a fine laugh hearing about how he’d spent his day.

Somewhere in the house, a door opened and closed, the sound of it echoing through the halls. Miss Camden froze, her alarm apparent enough that Bacchus felt pity for her, earlier trespassing aside.

He gestured toward the double doors leading outside. “Head out this way. There’s work to be done with the tenants.”

“The tenants?” she repeated, but she hurried through the doors and did not slow until her feet were on the stone path that led toward the gardens. “Mr. Kelsey, it must be two in the afternoon by now. I must be getting back to Brookley. I only have so many excuses for my absence, and some of those I need to save for future excursions.”

Bacchus clasped his hands behind his back. “And what would those future excursions be?”

Miss Camden blushed; the extra color in her cheeks had a lovely effect, though her forehead wrinkled with annoyance. “Nothing that concerns you.”

“Then you should not have concerned me in the first place.”

She stomped her foot. Like a child. Bacchus was tempted to laugh.

“You are impossible, Mr. Kelsey.” Lowering her voice, she added, “Were I a registered spellbreaker, I would have charged you a good sum for the work I’ve done. Certainly ample enough to cover any fine for trespassing.”

“But not enough for bail, if I understand correctly.”

She blanched again, but the effect wasn’t as stark this time. Drawing herself up, she said, “It would be easier for me to return tomorrow than to stay much later today. I ask that you be considerate of my predicament. Please.”

The crack in her stubbornness softened him, and he nodded. “Just a brief consultation, then.”

“And how will I work with the tenants without them noticing what I am?”

“It is not their homes that concern me, but their fields.” Few landowners paid to have physical or temporal aspectors bespell their tenants’ homes. If they were built well enough, they didn’t technically need it, although Bacchus had volunteered his time to place fortifications for most of the duke’s tenants. “Perhaps you can pose as a steward.”

She pressed her lips together, considering.

“Ah, Bacchus, there you are!”

Bacchus turned at the sound of the duke’s voice; he came striding down the steps from the ballroom. If his appearance made Miss Camden uncomfortable, she didn’t show it.

The duke’s eyes slid to the spellbreaker for a brief moment before returning to Bacchus. “It looks marvelous, if I may give my uneducated opinion. I’m sure the duchess will approve; thank you for giving in to her whims.”

Bacchus nodded. “It’s the least I could do.”

The duke smiled and turned to Miss Camden. “Surely you will introduce me to this young woman?” He had a glint in his eye that Bacchus didn’t like.

Bacchus cleared his throat. “Of course. Miss Camden, this is Isaiah Scott, the Duke of Kent. Your Grace, this is Miss Elsie Camden.”

Miss Camden executed a well-practiced curtsy.

“My pleasure, Miss Camden.” The duke was grinning now. And of course he would be. Bacchus had made no calls in England save for his ill-fated visit to the Physical Atheneum, and now he had been caught strolling in the gardens with a well-dressed young woman. He could have kicked himself.

“My dear,” the duke continued, “we are at a loss for dinner guests as of late—”