One
Six months later…
Marcus Thorne pulled his hat from his head as he stepped across the threshold. Before him were the elite of society, the lords and ladies of the realm. The very people he’d detested his whole life, but now was expected to live and interact with. He was supposed to become one of them. Good heavens, he was dicked in the nob.
Wilkins, his sister’s butler, took his hat and his coat, and opened his mouth to announce him. But Marcus held a finger to his lips and shook his head. He didn’t want the butler to herald his arrival. He didn’t want these people to even know he was here. Wilkins glared at him for a moment and inclined his head. The man was nothing if not proper.
“Are my parents here?” Marcus asked.
“Lord and Lady Ramsdale are involved in a waltz,” Wilkins informed him.
“And my sisters and their husbands?”
“Lord Phineas and Lady Claire are in the nursery, I believe, checking on the twins.”
Marcus chuckled beneath his breath. Claire was infatuated with her children and insisted on taking them everywhere with her and Finn. “And Robinsworth and Sophie?”
“Meandering about the room,” Wilkins said.
Marcus’s sister, Sophie, had stepped into the life of a duchess as though she’d been born to it, instead of being born with wings and magic dust. Marcus ambled into the room and pushed to the edge of the throng, heading toward Robinsworth’s study. He was almost certain the man had some brandy secreted in a cabinet that would ease some of Marcus’s anxiety.
Marcus wasn’t at all comfortable in these gatherings. But he would someday step into the role of a viscount, and he supposed he had much to learn to be able to do so. His parents hadn’t even known of his existence until two years ago, when he was five-and-twenty.
Good God, he needed a drink.
He continued on toward Robinsworth’s study, stopping briefly to bow at people with whom he couldn’t avoid making eye contact. There were whispers behind his back; he could hear them all. But he chose to pay them no mind. Perhaps if they were whispering about him, they would cease their relentless whispering about his sisters and their chosen husbands. It was the price he was willing to pay. He might even choose the most scandalous woman in the room and ask her to dance.
Marcus stepped into the study and shoved the door closed. He leaned heavily against it and took a deep breath. These things rattled him more than he wanted to let on.
“It’s about time you arrived,” boomed a voice from the other side of the room.
Marcus searched the shadows of the dark room. But then the chair behind Robinsworth’s desk kicked back and he saw Ronald, the family’s garden gnome, resting there in the chair. Although he was no more than two feet tall, he was a sight for sore eyes with his purple waistcoat, green breeches, and pink cravat. He was familiar. And Marcus dearly needed familiar.
“What are you doing in here?” Marcus asked as he crossed to the cabinet and retrieved a crystal decanter. Though he was secretly happy to see the little man, he didn’t want to appear overly friendly. Ronald did live to tease him, after all. Marcus splashed a generous amount of the amber liquid into a glass and drank it in one swallow. Then he put the decanter away and turned to face Ronald. Marcus adjusted his waistcoat and wiped some invisible lint from his sleeve.
“I was waiting for you,” the garden gnome said.
“Why?”
The little man pulled a scroll from his inner pocket and held it out to Marcus. “You have a mission.”
A mission? Marcus hadn’t had a mission in months. He took the scroll and tucked it into his pocket.
“Don’t you want to read it?” The gnome’s red eyebrows drew together sharply.
“I think my attendance at the soiree is mandatory. Father sent a reminder of it. Three times.” Marcus heaved a sigh. “The mission will have to wait.”
The gnome’s voice grew weary. “How are things with your parents?” he asked.
“Things are fine with the parents,” Marcus said. His younger brother, Allen, was the problem of the moment. His brother had been groomed from birth to become a viscount, and now Marcus had stepped into his place. If given the choice, Marcus would have let his brother precede him, even though Marcus was the oldest male. But, apparently, it wasn’t a choice. He would have to step into his father’s shoes at some point. And in doing so, he would stomp all over Allen. “Allen isn’t too keen on me, however.”
“He’ll come about.” The gnome tapped the desk with one neat fingernail as his eyes narrowed. That look never boded well. But then his face softened, as if the thought had left his head as quickly as it had entered.
A flutter in Marcus’s coat pocket drew his attention. The soft shiver in his pocket always made him think of a trapped bird. He jerked the chain that was connected to the compass his grandparents had given to him on his twelfth birthday and pulled it out. He flipped it open. “Northwest,” he said aloud.
“That’s what I needed to know.” Ronald got up and stretched widely.
“You’re returning to the land of the fae tonight?” How he longed to go with the gnome.
“I am now that you have pointed me toward a portal.” Toward home. The compass always pointed toward home. The land of the fae. Marcus was the only one who had such a device, and no one was at all certain how it worked. But the compass always pointed him and others like him toward home.
He longed so deeply to go home. The rolling hills and the peaceful streams. The bare feet and the house he’d grown up in. Ladies with wings and faerie dust. Ladies who knew him. Ladies who didn’t expect him to be something he wasn’t. One lady in particular.
Ronald shoved open the shutters and began to climb over the windowsill.
“Will I see you again soon?”
The little man shrugged. “I know not the future.” Then he winked and threw himself from the window. Marcus bit back a smile. Then he steeled himself and went back to the ballroom, which didn’t call to him the way home did. In fact, it did the opposite.
Marcus heard his name called from across the room and turned to find his mother, Lady Ramsdale, walking toward him with her arms outstretched. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, smiling broadly enough that he felt somewhat guilty for hating these affairs so much.
“As am I,” he lied, the sentiment falling from his tongue more easily than it used to. This was to be his lot in life. He might as well accept it. “Did I miss the big announcement?” he asked.
She beamed at him as she shook her head. “No, you’re just in time. I think everyone is in place.”
“Are you certain this is going to work?” he murmured out the side of his mouth.
“I’m not certain at all,” she replied. “But there are enough fae here, I think…”
Marcus looked about the room. There were fae mixed with the peers for the sole purpose of this night, to solidify this announcement in the eyes of the ton.
Marcus’s parents planned to welcome their three fae children into the fold publicly. The only problem was that the ton had no idea they even had these three children. So, it would take a bit of creative maneuvering to convince society that the Ramsdales had known of Marcus, Claire, and Sophia’s existence all along.
The quartet’s song slowed and then stopped, and the musicians put away their instruments. A slow rumble of voices rolled across the room. But then Lord Ramsdale, Marcus’s father, clinked a utensil against the side of a glass. Every head in the room turned toward him.
“If I may have your attention, please,” he said with a smile. “We’ll go back to the merriment in a moment, but I wanted to say a few words, if possible.”
The crowd whispered loudly to one another and strained to hear him as he pulled Marcus’s mother to stand beside him. He beckoned the duke and Sophie, and then Lord Phineas and Claire, who had found their way back from the nursery. Then he called Marcus and Allen forward as well.
“You’re all aware of the new additions to our family. Our daughter Sophia married the Duke of Robinsworth and they recently had a son of their own, and we have claimed Lady Anne, Robinsworth’s first daughter, as our own grandchild. She tolerates us, most days.” Laughter rumbled through the crowd. “And then Claire met and married the duke’s younger brother, Lord Phineas, and they gave us not one, but two new grandchildren. Lord Phineas always was an overachiever.”
Lord Phineas raised a glass and grinned.
His father stopped to clear his throat. “As you’re aware, Marcus, Claire, and Sophia spent much of their time in the country with Lady Ramsdale’s parents when they were younger, and we’re delighted to have them in Town with us this season.”
That wasn’t exactly true. But that was the point of the gathering, wasn’t it? They were to plant memories in the minds of the ton, making them think the Ramsdale children had been the darlings of Society all along, rather than never having been heard of. By the end of the ball, everyone would leave with knowledge of the three, believing the three of them had always existed.
“My younger daughters, Rose and Hannah, are not quite old enough to join us, but my sons, Marcus and Allen, are here, and I hope you’ll all welcome Marcus, Claire, and Sophia with as much enthusiasm as you would my wife and I.” He stopped and spoke very clearly and slowly. “You all knew of my six children since the days of their births. You knew of all six of them.”
Marcus looked around as magic dust began to swirl in the air. It lived and breathed, as did the supplanted memories. The fae held the magic aloft, and even his sisters and his mother and grandmother helped to stir the dust. Their power made the air in the room shake, and Marcus reached out a hand to a nearby table to steady himself.
Everyone in the room, aside from the fae, was frozen in place as the dust fell. It shimmered like diamonds in the air, and Marcus’s gut clenched as he realized that this act sealed his fate. He couldn’t go back home. Now the ton knew who he was. In fact, they would probably be telling stories of him as a small lad, all figments of their own imaginations, of course, before the night was over. He hadn’t grown up in this world, but now everyone would think he had.
His father repeated, his voice rising in volume, “You all knew of my six children since the days of their births. You have memories of them as children, as adolescents, and as adults. You welcome them with open arms.” His father’s words could do nothing without the fae and their magic dust. But he spoke them clearly, and when the dust settled at their feet, the people in the room all woke, and they raised their glasses in a toast. “To my children, their health, and their happiness,” his father said.
Everyone drank, including Marcus. This was his world now. There would be no going back home after this. He was well and truly trapped. Trapped being a viscount. Trapped being a gentleman. Trapped being a man in need of a wife. Trapped without her. Trapped without the woman he loved.
The compass in his pocket fluttered. Marcus tugged the chain to pull it from his pocket as the orchestra set back up and music began to flow around the room again. He glanced down at the dial. It pointed across the room. Marcus followed the direction of the arrow, and it landed on her. It landed on the one woman he thought he’d never see again. He picked it up and shook it beside his ear. Perhaps it was broken. His compass was supposed to point the way home. But it pointed to her. What the devil was going on?
***
The hair on the back of Cecelia Hewitt’s neck stood up, and a shiver crept up her spine. He was there. And he was looking at her; she was certain of it.
Cecelia frantically searched the room, looking for his long, dark hair, which was probably pulled back in a queue to hide the tips of his ears. She reached up to adjust a pin over her ear for the same purpose. Living in the human world was difficult. One couldn’t let the humans see one’s magic, and that included one’s fae ears. Aside from her wings, which she could bring about or make disappear at will, her ears were the only evidence of her heritage. She looked as human as everyone else. But she wasn’t. Not even close. Because she had magic inside her. Magic she couldn’t do away with if she tried.
The mission tonight had gone well, Cecelia thought. She hadn’t wanted to be here at all, but Marcus’s grandmother had bid her attendance, and she couldn’t turn the widow down. She’d come by way of the wind the night before. She’d spent the night at Ramsdale House and was doomed to stay until the next moonful when she could ride the wind back to the land of the fae.
“Thank you, dear,” Marcus’s grandmother said, laying her hand upon Cecelia’s arm. “I know you hadn’t planned to come to this world, but I appreciate that you did. We needed all the magic we could gather.”
“My magic is at your disposal until the next moonful,” Cecelia replied. She didn’t have anything else to do. She might as well stay busy. Marcus’s grandmother patted her arm again and left her standing there.
Another shiver traveled up Cecelia’s spine. He was nearby. She hadn’t seen Marcus in more than six months. Not since that night when he’d told her he was done with her.
Now she hated him. He could go burn in hell and she wouldn’t care. Six months. It had been six months since she’d seen him. And he hadn’t sent one letter. Not a single correspondence. He hadn’t reached out to her at all. And then she’d been asked to come and contribute her magic to his success. She’d done it. But she wasn’t happy about it. Not at all. She was, however, happy to have a brief respite from home.
“Miss Hewitt,” a voice said near her shoulder. She turned and flinched when she saw the familiar dark eyes and dark hair, and the breadth of his shoulders. It wasn’t Marcus, although he looked enough like him that they must certainly be brothers. He bowed in front of her, and she dropped into a quick curtsy. “Please excuse me for the impropriety of this, since we haven’t been properly introduced, but I’m in need of a dance partner.” He picked up the dance card that dangled from her arm and saw all the empty spaces. “May I take my pick?” he asked with a grin.
She opened her mouth to speak, but a hand to her shoulder took her attention. “Sorry, Allen, but the lady is already spoken for,” Marcus said. Marcus took her hand and laid it upon his arm.
“Hello, Marcus,” she croaked out as she pulled her hand back from his arm.
He looked down at her hand, as though confused. “Hello, Miss Hewitt,” he replied. “I hope you have been well.”
Miss Hewitt? She should have called him Mr. Thorne. They weren’t in her world anymore. “Mr. Thorne,” she corrected. Her tongue was unwieldy and suddenly felt two sizes too big for her mouth.
“I see you’ve met my brother,” he said.
So this was Allen, the brother that Marcus had displaced. “We just met, yes.” She forced herself to smile at Marcus’s brother. Perhaps a bit too brightly. But she didn’t care. “We were just about to dance,” she said, reaching for Allen’s arm, arching her brows at him.
“I thought you were spoken for,” Allen whispered to her as he let her tug him onto the dance floor.
“Not by him,” she replied.
He chuckled. “I believe you’re the first person to choose me over him in months,” he said, his face dulled by… pain? Perhaps. She couldn’t be sure. He tilted his head and looked at her, his gaze searching her face. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?” he asked quietly as he led her into a waltz.
“One of what?” she replied.
He sighed heavily. “Where are you from, Miss Hewitt?”
“I’m certain you’ve never heard of it.”
His eyes narrowed and he heaved a sigh. “Just as I thought. You are one of them.”
A grin tugged at her lips. “Is it that obvious?” she asked.
“No, not at all. Only if you know what to look for.”
“And you know what to look for?”
“I was just looking for a pretty lady to dance with.” He jostled her in his arms. “I found one.” He looked down at her as they circled the floor. “And thank you for letting me draw you away from Marcus. Something tells me he’s ready to knock my head off my shoulders for it.” He nodded toward the edge of the dance floor where Marcus stood with his arms folded over his chest.
“Mr. Thorne,” she began.
He interrupted. “Call me Allen, please.” When she didn’t reply, he said, “Pretty please?”
“Allen,” she corrected, clearing her throat a little. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
“Not as lovely as it is to meet you,” he said, his grin making her feel warm all over. “If I may be so bold as to ask, what’s your relationship with my brother?”
“We don’t have one,” she said, blinking back the tears that pricked at the backs of her lashes.
“That bad, is it?” He pulled his chin closer to his chest and looked down at her. “You’re the one he left behind, aren’t you?” His voice was quiet. And yet it raked across her heart like broken glass.
She didn’t reply. Did she need to?
“When will you return home?” he asked.
“The next moonful.”
He quirked a brow. “That long? That gives us almost a month to remind him of how much he loves you.”
Cecelia tripped over her own foot. Allen caught her and drew her closer to him. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Never you mind, Miss Hewitt. Just that little fumble has him ready to leap to your aid.”
“You’re mistaken, Mr. Thorne,” she said. But if Marcus’s scowl deepened any further, he would be marred for life. Did this really affect him? He’d left her, after all.
“I assume you’re not here hunting a husband?” he asked.
“I’m just here to lend my magic to the cause.”
“Yes, the install-Marcus-in-his-place cause. Thank you so much for doing that.”
His last comment was bland enough to make her laugh.
“Your laughter is lovely, Miss Hewitt,” he said, his voice soft. “Marcus doesn’t know what he’s missing.”
“Thank you,” she said. Was he being kind? Or was he entirely self-serving?
“Would you like to take a ride with me in the park tomorrow?” he asked as the music slowed to a stop.
“I suppose I could,” she said. Is that what they did here?
“I suppose you should, my dear,” he said with a laugh, glancing at Marcus, who still scowled at the edge of the dance floor. “Let’s allow Marcus to be the one displaced for a day or two, shall we?”
“Yes,” she blurted. “My answer is yes.”
“There’s a smart lass,” he breathed. Then he bowed to her and returned her to the edge of the room.
Did she just make a deal with the devil? She supposed she would find out.