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.
She plastered on a smile. “I did get a bit turned around, thank you.”
The footman nodded and gestured toward the monstrous house. Elsie’s legs felt so stiff she almost wondered if she’d gotten stuck in one of Mr. Kelsey’s spells again. But she managed to follow the man clear to the entrance, where a second footman held open the door.
It struck her again that the servants certainly looked healthy enough. That was good. To think Elsie might have become a maid herself had she stayed in the workhouse. Not at an establishment like this, of course. Somewhere more cramped, danker. Aristocrats didn’t hire from workhouses.
The footman wound Elsie through a few halls, past more servants, and up a set of stairs to a spacious drawing room. The gilded paintings seemed to dance in the candlelight, the furniture was fine and brightly colored, and the biggest bouquet she’d ever seen sat in a porcelain vase on a low table.
She tried to act as though the casual display of wealth didn’t affect her.
She didn’t know the four women in the room, all dressed in finery save one, whose dress seemed about on par with her own. The oldest, a willowy woman who wore her years well, acknowledged her first. Her neck glittered with sapphires.
Elsie felt sorely out of place. Her eyes jumped between chairs and sofas, trying to find somewhere she could sit quietly and unobtrusively until the food was served—
“You must be Elsie Camden!” The willowy woman approached her, arms outstretched, a brilliant smile lighting her face. “Dear, forgive the nature of our introduction. Men can be so nonplussed.” She took Elsie’s hands like they were long-lost friends.
Elsie’s jaw dropped. This was a noblewoman, was it not? But she was so . . . nice.
The woman took advantage of Elsie’s bafflement and subtly looked her over. Elsie flushed, sure the woman was measuring up her attire, but to her surprise, she said, “And you’re on the taller side. That’s good.”
Elsie’s jaw snapped back into place. Why is taller good? But the answer came to her before she could speak, nearly choking her. The stranger was referring to her height relative to that of Mr. Kelsey.
The woman swept right over her voiceless stutter. “My name is Abigail Scott. The duke is my husband.”
Elsie was holding hands with a duchess.
“This”—the duchess released her and gestured to two women, both younger than Elsie, the first about sixteen—“is my daughter Ida and my daughter Josie.” Josie looked barely Ida’s junior. “And this is Master Lily Merton, whom I also invited to dine with us tonight.”
Master Merton, who looked to be a little older than Ogden, scuttled up to her. She was titled in the way of spellmaking, but she didn’t look like the standard well-to-do lady. She was short and plump, with a round face that looked like it perpetually smiled. Her hair was curled and a little old fashioned, her dress violet, modest, and simple, which made Elsie feel less out of place. “My dear, it is excellent to meet you. I hope you don’t mind the intrusion. The duchess’s family is a dear one, and Miss Ida is showing so much promise in aspecting!”
Elsie blinked and turned toward the older daughter. “You’re an apprentice?”
But Ida shook her head. “Not yet. Perhaps. But I do show promise.”
Master Merton nodded vigorously. “I just have to convince her to join the spiritual alignment!”
Ida smiled shyly. Though Elsie didn’t know the girl, she hoped she’d take the opportunity to study aspecting. There were so few women in the field, especially in Europe. Only the privileged who showed natural talent could try their hand at it, along with a sprinkling of the sponsored poor, who were often discovered only when spellmaking professors held recruiting events and didn’t charge a family their firstborn child to participate. That left many potential aspectors turned away. Back to the cabbage fields.
Had Elsie been anything but a spellbreaker, she’d never have amounted to anything. The Cowls certainly would never have found use for her.
“I’m sure you will succeed,” she tried, and Master Merton’s eyes gleamed with pleasure. “I think it a very good profession for a young lady.”
“Quite possibly,” the duchess echoed. She perked at footsteps in the hall. “Here we are. My dear Miss Camden, Mr. Kelsey will escort you. And Master Merton, I would be honored to have you on my left.”