The Magic of I Do (Faerie 2)

Finn doubted that Wilkins could handle her kind of breach. Finn’s eyes were trained on the pale pink skin that was exposed by her bodice. Until she began to snap her fingers in his face. He dragged a hand down his mouth in frustration.

“I’m up here, my lord,” she reminded him. Thin brows that arched as much as her mouth turned down met him when he finally found the wherewithal to look up.

What was up there was as pretty as what was down there. And everywhere in between. B

y God, he was losing his mind. They’d be calling a coach bound for Bedlam by the end of the night. “Am I going mad, Wilkins?” Finn asked.

“If you are, my lord, I’m going with you.”

***

Claire paced back and forth across the Aubusson rug in the chambers where they’d stashed her. “Stashed” was the only appropriate word for what they’d done. She didn’t have a single thing to wear. Nor did she have any money. Or magic. The only thing she could do was shrink herself down to faerie size and then back to human size again. And apparently, she could paint. But that was all she could do. She could get everything she needed if she only had some magic. But she had none.

She looked at the tip of the paintbrush and snorted. That was the only magic she had? It was left over from more than twenty years before. It had allowed her to paint that door handle on the door, and then the door had opened like a beacon on a dark night. And she’d walked straight into it. Look where it had gotten her. She’d paint her way out of it if she could come up with a safe destination. But she couldn’t think of a single place she could go.

Her chambers were extremely fine, much finer than what she’d had at home. From the thick carpet beneath her feet to the tapestry on the wall, this place was much more extravagant than anything she’d ever had assigned to her. When she came to this world, she was usually installed as a servant and given a tiny room in a drafty corner of a manor house. The Hall, which belonged to the Duke of Robinsworth, was monstrous in size, and Claire was afraid she’d get lost in the corridors if she even attempted to bolt.

A knock sounded on the door. Claire turned just as the door slowly opened. “No, I didn’t intend for you to wait for my call to enter,” Claire sniped. But a kind face appeared around the door and an old woman walked into the room.

“Grams, you’re supposed to wait until she calls for you to open the door. What if she were undressed?” Lord Phineas bellowed at the old woman. She held an ear funnel up to her ear, and he leaned toward it.

The lady shrugged her narrow shoulders and yelled back, “She doesn’t have anything I haven’t seen before, I can assure you.” She shot Lord Phineas a telling glance. “And I dare say nothing you haven’t seen before either.”

His face flushed scarlet. He was quite handsome when he was discomfited. The corners of his mouth lifted in a grin. “See here, now,” he began. But he just stopped and shook his head. He gestured to the woman. “Miss Thorne, this is my grandmother, the dowager Duchess of Robinsworth.”

Claire curtsied as best she knew how. “Grams has agreed to act as your chaperone while you’re here.”

“I do not need a chaperone.”

The dowager lifted a funnel to her ear. “Did you say mascarpone? Call for a tray. I’ll share it with Miss Thorne.”

“Not mascarpone, Grams!” Lord Phineas bellowed. “Chaperone. Miss Thorne needs a chaperone! For propriety’s sake.”

“Oh, who cares about propriety?” the dowager said, waving her hand in the air. “You could crawl in bed with her and I’d have no idea of it. Why avoid the obvious?” She glared at Claire. “Do you plan to fornicate with my grandson?”

“Oh God,” Lord Phineas said as he buried his face in his hands and groaned.

Claire stifled a grin. “I have no intention of engaging in any form of fornication.” Not today. Not ever again. Not with Phineas Trimble.

The old lady looked toward Lord Phineas. “There’s more than one form of fornication?” she asked.

“Grams,” he growled. “I will not discuss fornication with you.”

“Then why did you bring it up?” She glared at her grandson.

“I didn’t,” he growled. Then he threw up his hands and quickly left the room.

The old lady laid down her ear funnel. “I do so love to do that to him.”

“I can tell.” Claire extended a hand to the old lady. “I have heard stories about you,” Claire confessed. The dowager duchess had been good friends with her own grandmother when they were younger.

“All true,” the lady said. “And the stories they made up, they’re true too as long as I come out smelling like roses in the end.”

Claire chuckled. It was the first true laugh she’d had since Sophia and Robin had showed up in the land of the fae. It felt good to laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Why are you here, my dear?” the woman asked, her voice softening.

Claire heaved a sigh. “I don’t know. The door brought me here.”