Spellbreaker (Spellbreaker Duology, #1)(29)
“A duke!” Emmeline had stars in her eyes. “This is absolutely wild!” Emmeline spun about. “Was the man very handsome?”
Elsie flushed. “Handsome? He’s quite old—”
Her friend rolled her eyes. “Not the duke, you ninny. The aspector! What’s his alignment?”
“Uh . . .” Elsie glanced around the studio, if only to take her eyes from Emmeline. “Well, he’s not a bad-looking fellow.”
“This is so exciting. You must go, and you must tell me all about it. You’ll head to the quarry right away, and I’ll rush through my chores so I can do your hair.”
Elsie touched her pinned locks. Emmeline hadn’t done her hair for a long time. Not since Alfred—
Alfred can choke on a rotten tart, she told herself, but it didn’t soothe the sourness in her belly.
She stiffened. “I am certainly not looking for affection, Em.” And Mr. Kelsey would certainly have none for her if she showed up too late to do any of her prison work.
The maid released Elsie’s hands. Of course, Emmeline knew all about Alfred and that nonsense. Elsie needn’t have snapped at her. But her friend’s natural good cheer pushed through. “But it’s not a bad thing, having a reason to fancy up.”
Elsie folded her arms. “I own nothing fancy enough for a duke’s table.”
“I think you’re fancy.” She beamed.
Elsie smiled. Considered. Sighed. “You’re right, I might as well make the best of it.” Maybe a few well-placed words would embarrass Mr. Kelsey right out of their spoken contract. “Would you . . . keep an eye out for any messengers or telegrams?” Though it was unlikely at this late hour, she still prayed for a cancellation.
“You’re expecting something from Juniper Down?”
The name of the place where she’d last seen her family hit her chest like a blow. Time had softened that wound, but it still sat there, a faded memory that made Elsie feel small. She was in a strange state of mind this afternoon, like she had a bad head cold that made her sensitive to everything around her. “Something like that,” she muttered.
Emmeline nodded. Elsie accepted her chatelaine bag, found a good hat to place on her head, and ventured out into the streets for the quarryman.
She thought up her excuses as she went.
No cancellation arrived from the duke’s residence, so Elsie found herself in her best dress at Seven Oaks that evening.
Wasn’t this everything she hated? Everything she stood against? The wealthy snacking on crumpets in the comfort of their mansions while the poor boiled down cabbage for their supper? In the workhouse, it had been easier to count the days she didn’t have cabbage than the days she did.
God bless Cuthbert Ogden.
She gradually stepped out of the carriage as though immersing in bathwater that was too hot. The Duke of Kent’s estate had done that growing trick again. It had surely doubled in size since yesterday. Perhaps Mr. Kelsey had done some incredible spell to make it loom. To intimidate her. To punish her for accepting the dinner invitation.
But it wasn’t very well her fault, now was it?
She should have said no. She should have sent a telegram directly to the duke himself and told him exactly what she thought of him, his society, and his mistreatment of his servants. Then again, her work with his bloody aspector wasn’t finished, and such a communication would make any future meetings, however accidental, incredibly awkward. Elsie did not enjoy feeling awkward.
“Is it the right place, miss?” her cab driver asked behind her, likely wondering at her hesitation. It was difficult to mistake any other place in Kent for Seven Oaks, surely. But Elsie couldn’t find her voice, so she nodded dumbly. The driver lingered a moment longer before whistling out the side of his mouth and whipping his horses’ reins. Then he was gone, and she stood alone at Seven Oaks, unescorted. But she was nearly old enough to be a spinster, wasn’t she? Just a few more years to go. And what uptight totty one-lung would think her worthy of gossip, anyway?
She wound her fingers together, the lace of her gloves chafing. She was in her maroon dress, the one she wore to church on the days she cared, and Emmeline had pinned her hair meticulously in the back and curled the shorter pieces in the front. Her hat sat like a resting bird atop it all, complete with feathers. She wore no jewelry—what she owned was not real in chain or stone, and she was certain the duke and his family would notice and judge her for it. The collar of the dress was high, besides.
It looked like the mansion was baring its teeth at her.
“Miss Camden?”
Elsie started, seeing for the first time a footman approaching her. A well-groomed footman, to be sure, but too young to be the butler. She offered a timid smile, and Elsie wondered how well the man was treated. Had the Cowls indeed been mistaken, or were the duke and duchess merely excellent at keeping up appearances? “I came out to see if you’d arrived, miss. Mr. Kelsey was worried you’d gotten lost.”
I’m sure he was, she thought. Would the spellmaker punish her for her inability to show up to work today? What if he used the dinner to publicly announce her secret? Or perhaps he would insist they skip the dinner so Elsie could prowl the tenants’ land in her nicest vestments?
She considered running all the way back to Brookley. The sun was setting; maybe she’d make it by morning. Now that would be a good bit of gossip: Elsie Camden stumbling into town a ready mess, her finest dress ripped at the hems. She could practically hear the story in the Wright sisters’ voices.