A Lady and Her Magic (Faerie 1)

“It can be whatever the lady desires,” the duke said as he stepped into their path. He looked astonishingly at ease. He glanced down at Anne and said, “Why don’t you go and check on the duchess. I assume she would like your assistance greeting guests.”

“But Grandmother doesn’t like me,” Anne protested.

“Grandmother loves you,” he began, but he didn’t have one single thing to say about how or why she loved her. He clamped his lips together instead.

“My grandmother will love you.” Sophia leaned down to whisper dramatically at Anne, “And she has confections in her pocket.” She placed her finger over her lips and made a shushing sound. “But she doesn’t want anyone to know. She likes to give them out to really well-behaved children.”

“I’m really well-behaved,” Anne chirped.

“I’m certain you are,” Sophia agreed. She addressed the duke. “She’s a fantastic guide,” Sophia informed him, and the little girl beamed under her praise.

“May I go?” she said, dancing in place as she asked.

“Run along,” the duke said to his daughter. He looked almost relieved as she scurried away. He faced Sophia with chagrin. “It’s not often I make arrangements to meet young ladies in the garden,” he began to explain. “But it appears as though the rest of my house has been overtaken. It’s difficult to find a refuge.” He looked behind her, as though an interloper lingered. “Do you have a maid with you?”

She’d brought a house faerie who served as her lady’s maid, but she couldn’t take Margaret everywhere with her. Particularly not when she was on a mission. “No, it’s just me,” she informed him.

“Is that safe?” he asked, arching one dark brow at her.

“You tell me,” she said, unable to keep a laugh from escaping.

“You are a breath of fresh air, Miss Thorne,” he tossed out.

“Because I am not afraid of you?” She wished she hadn’t said it as soon as the words left her mouth. “I’m not afraid of you,” she rushed on to say. “In case you were curious.”

“I was quite curious,” he admitted. He turned to pick some dead leaves from a nearby bush that had obviously seen happier days. He didn’t continue for several moments. Then he speared her with a glance. “Why is it that you’re not afraid of me? Grown women quake at the very thought of me.”

“I’m a grown woman,” Sophia protested.

His gaze traveled slowly down her body and back up to her face. “How old are you?”

It was probably the fact that she wasn’t part of the ton that allowed her to answer truthfully. “Six-and-twenty,” she said.

“Firmly set upon the shelf?” he asked, the corners of his lips tipping up. He seemed relieved to hear of her age.

“I imagine it would depend on whether you’re referring to a cupboard shelf or a ballroom shelf.” She stepped closer to him.

“What’s the difference?” He tilted his head when he looked at her, reminding her of an inquisitive puppy.

“Perspective.” One flitted onto a cupboard shelf when one needed privacy. She’d never sat on a ballroom shelf. That would just be odd.

He chuckled. “True.” He continued to fuss with the plant he’d been pruning with his bare hands. The poor thing would be bald before they were done talking.

“Did you call me to your private sanctuary for a reason?” she finally asked.

“I wanted to welcome you personally.” He bowed slowly. “Welcome, Miss Thorne.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said with a tiny curtsy. His face hardened almost imperceptibly at her choice of using his title. “It’s quite gratifying to find that you do not have a hunched back. Or a horn growing out of your forehead.”

“Oh, so they’re comparing me to the great mythical unicorn, are they?”

“They’re cantankerous animals. You’d think they’d be more complacent, since their only magic rests in that knobby, unattractive horn.”

His eyes narrowed as he appeared to mull over her statement. “Beg your pardon?” he finally asked.

“You were speaking of unicorns, were you not?”

“I was.”