She thought she caught Mr. Kelsey rolling his eyes, but he stepped out of the door frame, forcing Elsie to step back. He shut the door behind him. Elsie glanced longingly at the glimmering spell she’d disenchanted twice already.
Surely the Cowls knew she’d tried.
Mr. Kelsey strode toward the back of the estate without word. Elsie followed him, nearly having to jog to keep up with his stride.
“There are some slapdash spells on the estate I’d like voided.” Mr. Kelsey looked straight ahead. “Previous hires of the duchess. Some are old, some are a smattering of intermediate spells that would be better replaced by a single advanced one.” He glanced toward her, studying her for the space of a breath. “I take it you are untrained.”
“I am more than capable of breaking slapdashery, Mr. Kelsey. I trust that you have kept your end of the bargain?”
He nodded, and a trickle of relief cooled Elsie’s vitals. “The family is away, and most of the staff has been given the day off. The rest know better than to snoop. And if any of them do, they’ll assume I hired you from a reputable source.”
Elsie frowned. At least he’d ensured her safety.
He led her to the east side of the estate, to the large stone wall that surrounded the main grounds. The wall was speckled with fortification spells—one every twenty feet!—and Elsie unraveled them one by one. She got rather quick at it, and Mr. Kelsey followed behind her, replacing the spells with spells of his own—knots larger and more intricate than those falling to pieces under Elsie’s hands. Brighter, too. He didn’t say any magical words—aspectors didn’t need to, once they had absorbed a spell. The words became part of them, part of their opus. He simply put his hands on the wall and placed his runes. Runes only a spellbreaker would be able to see. And see them she did, each neat and shiny and symmetrical, though they vanished from sight the farther she moved from them. At most, she could spy three at a time, if she focused, and only because she knew where to look.
He’d said advanced spells, which suggested he was an advanced physical aspector, not yet a master. He looked a few years shy of thirty. He must have been raised to the magic, but he wasn’t a nobleman. Not a local one, anyway. Perhaps he’d gotten a sponsorship, but gauging by the way he dressed, his sponsor would have to be very generous. A foreign landowner, most likely. She doubted he was a merchant, what with his gloomy demeanor.
By the time she got to the front gate, her wrists began to itch fiercely. Scratching did little to abate the discomfort, and Elsie paused and pulled up her sleeves, expecting to see an ugly rash. But her skin was unblemished, minus the pinkness caused by her own fingernails.
“Have you done work like this before?” Mr. Kelsey asked, sounding disinterested.
“I’ve disenchanted walls, yes.” She sounded offended.
But the man shook his head. “I mean the repetition.”
Elsie eyed him.
He gestured to her wrists. “Overextending of magic takes a toll. Itching, soreness, fatigue . . . it varies from aspector to aspector.”
Elsie tugged down her sleeve. “I’m aware.”
She was not.
She worked for another half hour—trying hard not to scratch—before a servant appeared with a small basket of food. Mr. Kelsey accepted with a nod, and the man retreated back to the house.
He offered her a wrapped sandwich.
Elsie hesitated.
Mr. Kelsey sighed. “I’ll not starve you. There’s more than enough to go around in this place.”
If only to give her fiery wrists a break, Elsie accepted the food. “Thank you.”
Mr. Kelsey grunted an acknowledgment and unwrapped his own quick meal. They were on the green without any immediate shade, and the closest bench was a short walk away, so Elsie ate her food where she stood.
“You don’t live here,” she stated, “normally, I mean.”
She’d addressed him informally, and the look he gave her said he’d noticed. “Given the nature of our relationship,” she added, “I hardly think it necessary to address you ‘properly.’ And if you’re only an advanced aspector, you do not have a title, and therefore you are not my better.”
His lip actually quirked at that. “Perhaps, but I am legal, and you are not.”
Elsie blanched.
He went on. “I’m staying with the duke’s family while I earn my mastership. My father was a friend of the family.”
“Oh.” Then he certainly would be her better, not that she’d satisfy him by saying as much. “So he has you doing menial chores about the grounds?”
He cocked a dark eyebrow. “Regardless of what you’ve chosen to believe, Miss Camden, the duke is a good man. I work willingly, out of gratitude.”
“As I work unwillingly to keep my head on my shoulders.”
He glowered. Elsie shrugged and took a bite of food. The bread was exquisite. She chewed, swallowed, and let herself relax.
“Well,” she continued, “fair is fair. But how long must I toil to earn your favor? Or rather, your silence?”
“Until the work is done.”
Elsie frowned. “Leave it to a man to be unspecific.”
Another lip quirk. At least the boor appreciated humor. “The estate and its holdings are extensive; I have yet to walk all of it.”
“And its holdings?” Elsie repeated, leaning against the wall as her knees weakened. “Good sir, you will work me to death. I have another occupation.” Two, considering how often the Cowls had been contacting her of late. “One I am putting at risk for this.”
“I needn’t remind you that you made the initial risk yourself.”
Elsie sniffed and attacked her sandwich. She ate half of it in silence, and while the lack of conversation bothered her, Mr. Kelsey seemed utterly unfazed by it. Ridiculous man. When she could bear the quiet no longer, she blurted, “So where are you from? Turkey?”
His eyes narrowed. “That is your first assumption? Turkey?”
“I am no duchess, Mr. Kelsey. I am not well traveled, though I highly doubt you’re French.”
He popped the last of his meal into his mouth and brushed off his hands. Returned to the wall. Ran his palm over it. There was a crack there, and without a word he bespelled the stones on either side of it, growing them until their own girth filled it.
It was only a little impressive.
“I’m from Barbados, if you must know.” He tilted his head toward what remained of her food. “Don’t dawdle.”
Elsie gave him a pointed look and took her time finishing her meal. Mr. Kelsey, in the meantime, caught up to her with his fortifying spells. Despite the meal, he looked a little fatigued. Tired around his eyes.
They continued their work with the second half of the wall, disenchanting and re-enchanting it until they reached the woods. The itching spread nearly to Elsie’s shoulders, but she scratched only when she was sure Mr. Kelsey was not looking. Her knees and lower back ached when the work was finished, and she very much yearned for a bath.
“That’s enough for today.” Mr. Kelsey looked back over his work. His shoulders slumped, and he looked older. She wondered if overuse of magic was the cause, but Mr. Kelsey seemed to feel more tired than she did itchy. “Until tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow is the Sabbath.”
He looked down at her. His glare certainly hadn’t lost any energy. “You don’t strike me as a God-fearing woman.”
Folding her arms, she retorted, “I fear him on Sundays.”
Mr. Kelsey actually laughed. Softly, barely loud enough to hear, but it was a chuckle, nonetheless. Much to Elsie’s dismay, she found it to be a very pleasant and masculine sound. “As most do.”
Elsie loosened her arms. “Monday is as good a time as any. My employer is away working on some grand scheme of stonework for our squire. Best I use the time as I am able.”