Freddy had arrived late, nearly a half hour past the time Papa had bid him to call on us. He removed his hat and settled himself easily, smiling at all of us and remarking on the dampness of the weather.
My pulse stuttered under his smile. I still hoped he might find a way to explain everything. Perhaps Catherine had lied, though it seemed unlike her.
“Er.” Papa cleared his throat, set one booted foot over his knee, then set it back down again. “Thank you for calling, Lord Markson Worthing.”
“Your note said it was urgent.”
“Er. Yes. That is—” Papa broke off.
“It is a matter of my daughters’ reputations,” Mama said, throwing a scornful glance at Papa. “Anna was seen kissing you in the garden. And Catherine says you kissed her. Is this true?”
Freddy’s eyes flared wide with shock. I felt sorry for him. It was never pleasant to be ambushed by Mama.
“Catherine—that is, Miss Arden—told you?”
My heart dropped. He did not seem sorry for having done it, only for having been caught.
“It is a bad thing,” Grandmama said, tapping her cane on the floor for emphasis, “to be misleading two young women, and sisters besides.”
“You must do the right thing,” Mama said.
“The right thing?” Freddy’s voice was light, yet his posture was anything but. His shoulders were rigid, his eyes flickering around the room, landing on everything save my face. He fiddled with the rim of his grey hat.
This was not the stiffness of a man in love, trying to summon his courage. This was the stiffness of a man who would rather be anywhere save here.
“You must marry one of my daughters,” Mama said. “Whichever you like.”
Whichever you like. I swallowed the hysterical giggle bubbling in my throat. I wished Freddy would cast a Lucifera spell making the floor open beneath me. Heat washed up my neck and burned in my cheeks. I studied the carved lily patterns in the carpet so I would not have to watch Freddy’s reaction to Mama’s words.
“Ah.” A long, uncomfortable silence settled in the room. Freddy broke it at last. “I am, of course, flattered you would consider me as a possible husband for either of your lovely daughters. But, unfortunately, I am not the marrying type.”
I am not the marrying type. Each word was a dart, pricking my skin. Taken separately, the pain was slight. Taken collectively, I caught my breath at the sting. I gripped my hands together, my nails cutting into my palms.
“I do not see what that has to do with anything,” Mama said, her voice rising. “You have compromised them both. If you do not marry one of them, what man will want them? Particularly Anna, who does not have her sister’s beauty or her magic.”
“I am sure you overstate the matter,” Freddy said. “Miss Anna is a lovely girl. And it was only a kiss. Two kisses. Not a promise.”
Sourness bit at the back of my throat. His face was like a Greek sculpture, all perfect lines and curves and achingly remote.
“You may have given your kiss lightly,” Papa said, “but I doubt my daughters did. Anna, did you believe yourself plighted to this man?”
Yes, I thought. Maybe. “No.”
“Catherine, did you?”
“Of course. Do you think I would let him kiss me otherwise?”
Catherine was a terrible liar. But I underestimated my mother’s will to have one of her daughters wed.
“Then you see you must marry her,” Mama said. “Or we will sue you for breach of contract.”
Freddy sprang up, snatching his hat from his lap and shoving it on his head. “This is ridiculous. I can’t do this. I won’t.”
Anger flickered in me. Maybe I had been premature to think he might marry me on the weight of a kiss. But I had believed he cared for me. “Can’t do what? Court me? Kiss me—and my sister? Or is it only doing the honorable thing that you struggle with?” I shook off Mama’s restraining hand and stood and faced him, pausing to give my words emphasis. “I had believed you were so much more than this.”
“Anna.” The anger slid from Freddy’s face, and he looked only tired and a little sad. “I’m sorry. I was foolish, but not malicious. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
“Did you mean any of it?” I asked.
“I meant it when I kissed you,” he said, very low. “It didn’t mean anything when I kissed Catherine.”
I heard my sister’s gasp, but I kept my eyes fixed on Freddy.
“But it was a mistake. I realized that at Catherine’s debut. I—I heard people talking about you, after. I can’t marry you.”
A strange high buzzing filled my ears. “Why?”
Catherine’s voice sliced at me. “Surely you must know, Anna. Freddy needs to marry power. And you haven’t any.”
The flush in Freddy’s cheeks confirmed her words.
“So this is to be all?” Mama asked. “You refuse us?”
“I must go,” Freddy said, turning toward the door. “You’re welcome to bring a suit against me, but I doubt it will prosper. It will only serve to embarrass your daughters.” In the doorway he stopped and whirled, his eyes meeting mine. “I am sorry, Anna. If there had been any other way—if you had any magic at all…I shall always remember you.”
Mama began whispering furiously to Papa as soon as the door fell shut behind Freddy, but I did not hear her. Freddy’s words rattled around in my skull.
I did not want to be remembered.
I had only wanted to be loved.
Barton’s heavy knock on the door interrupted Mama and Papa’s argument. Catherine had already fled the room, tears starting from her eyes. Grandmama had taken Mama’s place beside me on the chaise longue, her arm warm around me.
The door flung open, and Barton announced Lady Berri and Lord Orwell. Lady Berri was resplendent in a particularly bright shade of yellow.
I dropped my head in my hands. My day had wanted only this.
“We met Lord Markson Worthing on the street. Such a charming young man,” Lady Berri said. “Is there to be an announcement?”
“No announcement,” Papa said.
“A pity—” Lady Berri began.
Lord Orwell spoke over her: “We did not come here to share gossip, but to examine the girl.”
“Oh, do hush a moment,” Lady Berri said. “It won’t help our task if the young lady is upset.” She turned to Mama. “You can rely on our discretion. It is not our intent to create a scandal for your family.”
The tightness around Mama’s eyes lightened. “That is very kind.”
“To business, then,” Lord Orwell said. “We’ve come to examine the girl.”
Alarm shot through me. I cast a look at Papa. Hadn’t he said no studies?
Lord Orwell held up a sheet of paper, covered with elaborately curving calligraphy and marked by an impressive seal with Queen Victoria’s rearing lion and unicorn. “I’m afraid you can’t refuse. Circle business.”
Grandmama’s arm tightened around me.
“On what grounds?” Papa asked. “She’s still a child.”
“She broke a spell with no apparent effort,” Lord Orwell said.
“An accident,” Papa said.
“You must see how serious this is. A child who can casually break a small spell might break a much larger spell, with deadlier consequences. And the Binding is not so secure as it once was.” Lord Orwell arched his eyebrows at Papa. “But perhaps this has been your plan all along. There are rumors, you know.”